You Found Me
by McMahonHelmsleyEraFan
Summary: Paul is bitter and angry after a breakup. Stephanie is unhappy, restless and hiding things. What happens after a chance meeting between the two?
1. I Don't Care

First off...I hate my imagination. The idea for this has been bugging me for months. Since I've deleted every WIP except Borderline I decided what the hell. Might as well pen it and see how it goes.

I feel that I must warn you all now: generally when a fic of mine has a lot of chapters (10+) it's a happy ending. Or bittersweet while suggesting things will be all right, at worst. I don't expect this story to go beyond 30 chapters. But I won't promise that this one will end the way you'd all like it to. You'll understand the reasons why as this this one progresses...*if* it progresses lol, which is totally based on how this intro goes over. Let me know via review.

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Paul's POV

"_I'm really sorry about all this…drama. Paul, I really am. But you're just too…you're just too nice for me."_

Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the memory of what Heather said when she left me. The relationship was pretty much over five minutes before that point because I'd come home after leaving the gym this morning to find her fucking my dickhead best friend on the couch.

What a bitch! The house and everything in it belonged to me. She was a beautiful girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She'd come on to me, initially. Our dates had been amazing; she made me feel carefree and light. We soon became a couple and remained that way for almost a whole year. Six months in, she was laid off from her job and could no longer afford to keep herself and her deadbeat roommate in their apartment. I let her live with me. Rent free.

Rent. Fucking. Free.

All I asked was that she at least started buying the groceries once she was employed again.

She held up her end of the bargain. But not once did she offer to do more. At the time I didn't mind; I didn't think of it. But now that we're broken up and she's showed her true colors I can't help but feel bitter about it. Goddamn freeloading wench.

This isn't how I used to be. My girlfriend before this? She dumped me, citing that I wasn't available emotionally or willing to let her in all the way. I was too cold. Too detached. Too independent. Kind of a jerk.

So I tried to soften up so I wouldn't drive the next girl away. Now I wish I hadn't changed. At least when I was an asshole, I didn't get played or taken advantage of.

Still…one said I'm a jerk and the one immediately following said I was too nice.

How about this? Women. Don't. Know. What. The. Hell. They. Want.

I snort and continue making my way down the busy street in Santa Monica. People are bumping into me, but I don't say anything because my broad shoulders also happen to be bowling smaller individuals over. Not that I care. I don't care about anything, anymore.

Except for the fact that I'm going to be late for a meeting.


	2. Bait and Switch

Thanks to Nicole and Caty for reviewing so quickly, lol. I wrote this just now...felt incomplete to have an intro that didn't include both sides. So now the story feels a bit more set up and can go from here, if enough people are interested. Let me know!

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Stephanie's POV

I hear Alex's heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs quickly. Instead of stopping, I place my hand on the doorknob, twisting it open as fast as I can.

"Can you take Jamie to school today?" Alex yells before I can close the door behind me.

Fuck my life! This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Alex has his head too far up his ass where it concerns his daughter, in my opinion. The brat hates me! It would be immature for me to say that I hate a child, though. But she is certainly one of my least favorite people.

I freeze in the doorway, realizing that Alex can definitely see me. There will be no slamming the door and running down the driveway, pretending I didn't hear him. Slowly, I turn around.

"Please, Stephanie?" Jamie asks sweetly, from her father's arms. Apparently he ran down the stairs carrying her, making sure she didn't get left behind.

A loud sigh leaves my lips. "I have a doctor's appointment in half an hour."

Alex rolls his gray eyes and passes a hand over his short, black hair. "Doctors are never on time, Steph. You can afford to spend a few minutes dropping her off."

So what? Why should I be late to drop off little "Damien?" I swear…even though she looks just like Alex, this child is still somehow the spawn of Satan. Her undeniably adorable face, accentuated by gray eyes and chestnut hair, doesn't fool anyone except for her father.

"Why can't you do it?" I ask with a hint of an attitude, placing a hand on my hips. I just love how he thinks whatever shit he has going on is more important than mine. Every time a scheduling conflict arises, he always asks me to drop or push back whatever it is I'm supposed to do, in favor of his stuff. I mean, is that what he married me for? To be his fucking errand girl? To be the nanny for his demon child?

I didn't initially sign up for any of this, you know. Alex and I dated for four months before he popped the question out of the blue. He'd been wining and dining me, sweeping me off my feet. He was so attentive and romantic. We were married two months later in Hawaii. We had a destination wedding that a select few were invite to. After that, he dropped a major bombshell on me. He had a daughter who lived in another state. He wanted to visit with the child more, but the mother wouldn't allow it. Now that he had all of his "ducks in a row" he planned to fight for sole custody.

The logical conclusion is that I was one of those ducks. He wanted the stability of marriage to make himself look better. And it worked and he was granted sole custody.

Her mother, Regina, shipped the girl over from Florida around our six month mark. My life has been hell ever since. And Alex? Let's just say he pulled a bait and switch on me when we were dating. The Alex I dated and the Alex I'm married to are two totally different people. I'd have divorced him a couple months after we got married, if I didn't know how it would break my mother's heart.

She was always pestering me about finding a "good man." She was always worried that I was running out of time or couldn't possibly be happy without a long-term relationship. Honestly, that was one of the reasons I accepted Alex's proposal and married him. He seemed good enough and it would make my Mom happy. It was the second greatest gift I could give her before she passed away of complications from lung disease and kidney failure at the age of sixty-three, right after my first anniversary. That was four months ago.

I wasn't able to give her a grandchild before she left us, but Shane did. I'm grateful for that because it took the pressure off of me. After realizing what life with Alex really was, the last thing I wanted to do was cement the union with a kid.

Karma is truly a bitch because I'll never get the chance anyway. I won't have the chance to be pregnant, give birth, nurture the baby and watch it grow into an adult. I won't have the chance to be proud of the flesh and blood that I created.

Instead I just have to deal with the glaring eight year old that's now standing on the staircase.

"God, you can be so selfish sometimes!" Alex huffs. "I have a golf game with a client in an hour."

My stare flattens. Seriously? Jamie's school is on the way to the damn golf course. My doctor is fifteen minutes away. The course is ten minutes away. Alex has an extra half an hour to be prepared and drop the antichrist off. Taking her to school will cost me another ten minutes, at minimum.

As if he can read my thoughts, Alex defends himself with, "It looks bad to arrive after the client."

You won't, you ass! But I don't say that. Instead I grumble out a, "fine."

I've never hit a child before in my life. Never felt inclined to. I think child abuse is wrong. So…

I really, really hope that someone at school punches Jamie square in her triumphantly smirking face.


	3. White Mocha

LOL I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter. And yep, you've all pretty much got it right. Stephanie doesn't love Alex or the kid :).

ENJOY and let me know what you think!

Paul's POV

Fuck yeah! The team I put together over at my hedge fund, landed the Johnson account. I drafted the best and the soon-to-be best and I have every faith that my team and I can triple the family's investment. You see, I've never been wrong when it comes to analyzing and picking stocks.

Wish I could say the same for whom I choose to date. I'm always making some damn misstep. It can't ever be just right. Either it's a little too far to the left or a little too far to the right. I can never hit the fucking target. I miss the mark and then I keep fucking going instead of backing out.

So fuck it. Fuck them and the hell with relationships. I mean that literally. From here on out the only thing I want is friends. Platonic friends would be fine, I guess. But if that gradually evolved into a friends with benefits situation that'd be even better. Sex, plus someone to keep me company occasionally…without the drama? Without the failed romance? Sign me up!

I pull a five from my wallet and hand it to the barista. That's what they call themselves. I'd rather say "coffee maker" or "cashier" and be done with it. But that wouldn't be politically correct, now would it? Everyone has gotten so damn sensitive over every last thing in these recent years. This one I can let go easily…pronouncing the Italian word isn't difficult. The girl can't be older than eighteen, but already she's picked up on ways to sucker money out of people by making them feel uncomfortable.

I say that because when she's handing me my change, she clears her throat loudly and cuts her eyes to the jar labeled, "Tips." Well isn't this classy…a stained jar with a piece of white tape, with the request written in black, sloppy permanent marker handwriting.

"Keep the change," is all I say before turning to walk to the back and wait on my drink.

My mind pretty much goes blank except for thoughts of Heather and Scott. Scott Hall is a complete fucking pig. Women actually go for his grease ball look for some reason…they find him attractive. And he'd screw just about any woman walking God's green earth. I'm not surprised at him. Sure, I expected more loyalty from my high school buddy. I mean, really? Fucking my girlfriend at my own house on my own couch? Yeah I expected more class from him, also. But he's always been about number one and if class was water, he couldn't come close to it even if he fell out of a damn boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

If Heather cares about any of the shit she's got at my place, she better have it out before I get back. That's what I told her before I left for work this morning. I fully intend to throw her shit in the street if any of it is left on my property. I'm sure she probably thinks I'm "too nice" to do that. If that's what she thinks, she's sorely mistaken.

And I'm torn. Half of me simply never wants to see her skank ass again. That part wants this morning to have been our last time being face-to-face. The other half of me wants her and her things to still be there strictly so she can watch me throw it out like the garbage that it is.

"White Mocha," the barista announces, sliding a white cup out to greet the others that are sitting there unclaimed. These people haven't been asking for, nor calling names. It's only a matter of time before two people start arguing over which hot cocoa belongs to whom.

I step forward and grab my cup. I slide one of the heat protectant sleeves around it and turn around quickly. I've got five minutes to make it back to my office. I just needed the little pick-me-up.

As soon as I turn around, my drink goes forward and into some stranger. "What the fuck?" I yell, as some of the hot coffee trickles through my fingers.

"Shit!" The other person, clearly female, yells at the same time.

I grab a napkin and begin rubbing at my hands, cursing the stranger the entire time. "Why the hell were you standing so close? Haven't you heard of personal space? Are you from a fucking overcrowded country where they don't have that?"

The stranger, whom I have yet to look at is also dabbing herself furiously with napkins. I'm focused on cleaning myself up. But I notice what is practically a train of long, wavy, chestnut colored hair, moving around in accordance with what she's doing. Her voice is unique. It's high pitched, yet sultry at the same time. Almost as if she was getting a cold. But she sounds healthy so I doubt that. "They called my drink, you fucking asshole! That mocha was mine!"

"The hell it was!" I retort angrily.

"I was standing in the back waiting for it to be ready before your oversized ass even made it to the register!"

Now I'm embarrassed. So I basically stole her drink. Even though I recognized that this place had an awful system for giving out drinks and would undoubtedly wind up causing a scene, I didn't see this coming. Words won't come out of my mouth and my legs don't seem to work either because I feel so fucking stupid. The stranger finally stops wiping at her shirt. She turns towards me and I'm shocked.

"White Mocha," the barista says again and it catches the attention of us both. The barista is looking between the two of us, nervously.

The devastatingly gorgeous stranger glances around, noticing that the entire café is staring at us in bewilderment and/or disapproval. Her eyes, blue as the ocean, cut back to me. I see fire, I see passion. I see beauty, intelligence, wonder and amazement. I see the whole world somehow.

Now I see nothing, as she turns to the barista again.

"Let the fucking jerk have the drink he paid for," she says to the flustered employee, jerking her head at me.

She spins on her heel – not that she needs them since she's at least five-eight – and storms out of the establishment.

"White Mocha," the kid repeats, pushing the drink into my hand. I swallow hard and close my hand around the cup, staring in the direction the brunette walked off in.

We'd ordered the same drink. Technically, I'd spilled hers…and all over her, too. And then I'd behaved like a complete and total dick.

I glance down at the cup in my hand, knowing exactly what needs to be done. Even if I'm late making it back to the office I need to make this as right as I can.

I've got to find her.


	4. My Bittersweet Escape

Hmm...I imagined this going down in so many different ways. I imagined it, first at the second or third to last chapter of the fic. But dragging the mystery out that long would probably leave you guys awfully frustrated. And I'd have a hard time writing it and leaving it out lol.

Then I imagined that Stephanie would blurt out the truth in a fit of anger, leaving her friend shocked, right before Paul walked in with coffee. That's what I wanted to type, but I got this instead. Gonna assume it's how it was meant to be LOL.

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Stephanie's POV

My high-heeled boots clack rhythmically as I make my way down the street. I'm utterly furious. My morning began by having to take the antichrist to school. The fucking brat kicked the back of my seat and popped her gum loudly the entire car ride there. I asked Jamie to stop and all she did was laugh and tell me that her Daddy allows her to do whatever she wants. She told me that since he was my husband, Alex runs the household. But that she runs Alex. She said that my life would be a lot easier if I'd get with the program.

I barely contained my clever, sarcastic, yet true retort. See, the joke's on the brat, really. She thinks this situation is going to be long-term but it isn't.

My doctor's visit was dismal and offered even less hope than the last appointment did. I thought "hopeless" was the ultimate form of pessimism, but no. Somehow there's something that's even lower than that. Go figure.

The white mocha was supposed to be the first good thing about my day. I'd been craving the damn thing all morning. I'd stepped forward, ready to claim my drink, only to have it spilled on me by some tall, bodybuilding, blond asshole. I was too pissed off about my drink and about life in general to take the time to appreciate how attractive he was. Plus, he also had to spout off at the fucking mouth like it was my fault he was a clumsy dipshit.

Whatever.

I push open the door that leads to the modest, tastefully decorated space that Stacy and I call "S Duo Designs." We began our interior design business just five years ago and we've defied the odds. We were profitable before our first year was even up.

I hear Stacy before I see her and can't help but smile ironically for a moment. She's never been good at moving quickly in high heels. Her footsteps are many because she doesn't advance much in the tall shoes. Her blonde hair is pulled back from her face in a perfectly groomed ponytail.

"Stephanie, where have you – oh shit!" She exclaims with her brown eyes wide.

Stacy Keibler and I have been joined at the hip since before we were in diapers. Our mothers met in Lamaze class when they were pregnant with us. My Mom delivered me right on time. Stacy was two weeks late. It truly set the tone for how she'd live most of her life: being late everywhere. But on this particular morning, it was me that was late.

"What happened to your clothes and why are you so late?" She demands without actually being very demanding.

I hold up one hand, spreading my fingers out for emphasis. "I can explain with five words…" I draw a finger in with each word. "Asshole. Coffee shop. Steal. Spill."

"Shit, that sucks. That's such a cute shirt, too. But what about the lateness? Stephanie even _I _beat you here. That's not like you."

I snort out a laugh. "I was late to my doctor's appointment because I took little Satan to school. And yeah, it's not like me to curse out strangers in coffee shops, either."

"Oh my God!" Stacy exclaimed. "You cursed out the person who spilled a drink on you? In public? Steph…" she sighs.

"I know, I know. I mean, he started it and all. But still. I just…I just got so…over it. You know? I can barely tolerate Alex, I can't stand Jamie. My marriage is a sham, basically. The only thing that has turned out right is this business. And if I was the sole owner, it would probably be in the crapper already because my luck is pure shit. You're the lucky charm keeping this place successful."

Stacy vehemently shakes her head. She wouldn't be, if she knew the whole story. But she doesn't. I haven't told her or anyone else that doesn't have direct access to my medical files. "That's not true, Steph. You still look amazing and haven't aged a day since high school. You're gorgeous, you have awesome friends, a great clientele base, you're healthy and-"

"Healthy?" I interrupt and laugh resentfully with a shake of my head. I'm so tired of this. I'm tired of holding it all in. It's unfair of me to drop this all on Stace. But she needs to know anyway. She needs to be prepared to run the business alone. "I'm anything but healthy. I'm...dying."

Stacy blinks at me a couple of times. "This isn't – this isn't funny, Stephanie," she says softly and on the verge of tears. By her expression I know that she knows I wouldn't joke about something like this.

My shoulders lift in a shrug because I have no idea what else to do. "I'm not laughing."

Stacy reaches out for the corner of the front desk, grabbing it with her fingertips. Her eyes are hollow and her face has gone stark white, like a ghost's. I remain silent for a minute while I let the truth sink in for her. I bite down on my lip, blinking my eyes rapidly in an attempt to stop my own tears from falling.

"But Steph, you look fine!" She manages to get out as the first batch of tears comes running down her pretty face.

I swallow down the hard lump in my throat, sniffling. "That's what I said when they told me. I couldn't believe it. I'd just gone in for a damn physical. I wasn't expecting anything to come of it. I felt fine, I looked fine. I still do, for the most part. But Stace…I have cancer."

"You can't," She whispers and finally breaks down entirely. Even though I'm the one whose body has betrayed her by deciding to kill her from the inside out, I rush over and draw my closest friend into a hug. Stacy buries her head into my shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. I pat her on the back; it's my attempt to comfort her.

It's also not working. Not when I'm crying right along with her. Until now, I've done relatively well with burying my emotions about this whole thing. If I didn't tell anyone, it was kind of like it didn't exist. I planned to just fade away silently and die suddenly, with my family and friends only finding out the reason why, after I was gone.

As Stacy and I acquired a couple of major accounts, I realized the tremendous burden I'd be leaving her with out of nowhere. I knew I had to tell her eventually but I wasn't planning for today to be that day. I'm aware that my death will affect quite a few people greatly. But the pain would come all at once; that's how I saw it. There'd be no endless crying and feelings of helplessness, dragging on for God knows how long. No one would be hanging on by a thread, hoping for spontaneous, miraculous remission of the cancer. There'd be no feelings of defeat to cope with as the ones I love watch my life drain away from me at the age of twenty-nine.

I can't spare anyone the pain that my passing will cause. It would be a futile mission to try. But what I could do was be strong, suck it up and do the best I could with whatever time I had left.

I began to see my diagnosis as somewhat of a bittersweet escape. As soon as the random, several-times-a-day crying over my mother's death had stopped, I'd made an appointment to consult with a divorce attorney. I'd called the best because I wanted to make sure Alex somehow paid for tricking me into this loveless marriage of convenience. Even though I rushed into it because of my Mom, the point was that I was swindled into thinking I had a good man who loved and adored me.

So I didn't want him to be able to touch my business or the vacation property I had in Florida. Of course, he didn't even know about the house…which, in my mind, gave me ample time to figure out how to make sure he couldn't get his grubby hands on it.

Being that my attorney was the best, his appointments were booked weeks in advance. As fate would have it, my physical was two weeks before my divorce consult. I'd received my diagnosis just five days before the appointment.

Stage Two Pancreatic Cancer. The four words changed my life. The four words correlated with a six to nine month life expectancy, because it was already transitioning into the third stage. After getting a second and third opinion, I accepted the status of my health. I plunged into thorough research and requested accurate information from each doctor. Time was of the essence, they said. This cancer moved quickly. The time frame I was given was only if I let them take measures to fight the cancer cells.

But…I decided against intervention. Surgery was unlikely to remove all of the cancer at this point because of micrometastases. That's basically a fancy ass way of saying that small amounts of cancer spread beyond the pancreas and weren't detectable when the surgery was performed. There was a twenty percent chance that five years after surgery I'd still be cancer free. I was and still am against chemotherapy. I know it works for some people. But I wasn't willing to suffer myself through the treatment, deal with the fucking cancer, lose my hair and most likely have the cancer come back and kill me anyway. What was the point? Simply prolonging my life was like inviting prolonged physical torment. My likelihood of being cured was slim to none.

So I declined aggressive measures and changed my outlook. There was a good chance I'd die before my divorce would be finalized. And even if I didn't, I saw no point in stressing myself out and going through the hassle. I simply created a will that left Alex absolutely nothing. I set up a package that included mortuary arrangements as well as a plot at the cemetery. It wasn't exactly cheap so I decided to split it into four payments. How did poorer people afford this? They probably couldn't and were unable to afford to live or die. I made sure I drew up an Advance Directive, stating what was to be done in the event I stopped breathing. It was simple: do nothing.

Everything was in order. Everything was set up. All I was doing was waiting.

Waiting for obvious symptoms…but nothing happened except for the random, mild back and stomach aches that had compelled me to have a physical in the first place. I'd wanted a food allergy test and maybe a referral to get massages as a part of physical therapy. I got much more than I'd intended.

Sometimes an ache of the back or stomach are the only symptoms that come with pancreatic cancer. That's why it's basically a death sentence. It's usually undetected until it's in its third or fourth stage and it's nearly impossible to cure at that point.

Once I gratefully accepted that I was one of the few who would have little to no symptoms…I simply waited to die. It's been just over two months since I received my initial diagnosis.

I'd been dealing. I'd been trudging along with my life as it was, just going through the damn motions. I'd been repressing how disappointed I am that hardly anything in my life went the way I planned or expected it to.

But today I just couldn't hold it in any longer. The combination of finding out that there was small spot of cancer on my liver and the spilling of my favorite drink somehow opened up the floodgate of emotions I'd been keeping in.

Stacy squeezes me like she's afraid I'll float away from her at any given moment. I can't say that I blame her since I don't know the day, hour or second that I'll take my last breath.


	5. Amends

I should say that I'm wavering with my original ending to this story, lol. I want to stick to what I had in mind but there's a few other possibilities I'm going back and forth with myself on. We'll see how it turns out. For now, I hope you all just enjoy this chapter! Please forgive any typos or tense errors (noticed a few in ch. 4 but too lazy to change it haha)...I totally write updates for this as I'm heading to bed or while I'm getting ready for work in the mornings :-D

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Paul's POV

"Hey you!"

"Hey…lady!"

"You…you walking…with the boots!"

"Brown hair!"

"Umm, umm…tall girl with the brown hair and blue eyes!"

My words…my attempts to get the girl I spilled coffee on to stop walking, replay in my head as I trudge back over to the café.

She didn't stop, she didn't slow down. Hell, she didn't even flinch as I yelled to her through the sea of people. Obviously she didn't hear me or just had no idea I was talking to her because of my vague descriptions.

I couldn't exactly run after her because of the coffee I was holding and the throng of people that separated us. So I tried to shove my way through. Just as I had an almost clear shot to get to her, she turned a damn corner and at that point I knew following her was not going to work.

My free hand grabs the door of the café, pulling it open harshly. I make my way back to the area where the drinks are handed out. "That woman who was just in here…the one I spilled coffee on," I admit with obvious regret and embarrassment. "Is she a regular?"

The fresh-faced teenage boy who's manning the area nods several times at me.

"Does she live or work around here?" I press, staring intently at the kid. He seems scared of me. I'm not sure if that's to my advantage or disadvantage right now. He might not tell me shit, for fear that I'll hurt the woman or something.

"She's a nice lady," the kid says and glances around nervously.

A sigh leaves my lips. "Look, kid. I'm having a really fucked up day and I just want to apologize for taking it out on her by giving her my coffee."

The kid nods, but still seems a bit skeptical. "She runs a design company over on 4th."

"4th and what?"

"SM Blvd., I think."

"What's the name of the place?"

The kid shrugs and I can tell he's not simply holding out on me. I plunge my free hand into my pocket, pulling out my wallet. I fish around until I find a twenty, tossing it into the tip jar before I turn and walk out.

So late. I'm going to be so fucking late getting back but I don't care. And it's not like my absence is really going to be all that noticeable anyway. I'm just the kind of guy that like's to stay on his p's and q's, ready for anything random and unexpected to happen at work.

My body weaves in and out through the people, like a car would on the freeway. It takes me no more than three minutes to reach the intersection of 4th street and Santa Monica Blvd. The problem is that now I'm not sure which direction to turn in. I mean, there aren't really that many options. If I go down the wrong street, I'll just turn around.

Hmm. Today's big question for me was on why I could never pick the "right" woman. Right. Yes, right…I'll try that direction first. I'm bouncing my weight from side to side, impatiently, waiting for the signal to change. When it finally does, I speed walk across the crosswalk until I'm safely on the other side. I look up, my eyes rapidly scanning for any place that looks like a design company.

"Pinkberry, Johnny Rocket's," I mutter aloud as I continue to scan and walk. "Foot Locker…S Duo Designs!"

I stop in front of the pretty door. Pretty door? I can't believe I actually think a door is pretty. What the hell?

It is then that I notice that despite the fact I'm in excellent shape, wasn't running and didn't walk all that far, my heart is hammering away in my chest. A strange sensation is in the pit of my stomach and I clutch the coffee drink tighter in my hand, as if it's a damn lifeline or something.

Anxiety. I'm anxious. I'm nervous. About seeing the girl. Well, who wouldn't be? Cursing out an undeserving stranger after _you _steal their drink and spill coffee on _them _is pure buffoonery. It's been quite some time since I felt like this much of a screw-up.

That's what I tell myself. That's what I try to make myself believe. But the truth is that I'm more worried about the impression that I made on her. And I'm worried about the impression that me showing up is going to make. I don't want her to think I'm some crazy stalker with an anger problem.

And I am…on the verge of freaking out a little bit here. This is ridiculous. I'll just go in, offer my apology, give her the mocha and leave. That's it. If she doesn't accept my apology, there's nothing more I can do. I'm doing what's proper and if she won't respond in kind, that says more about her character than mine.

The coolness of the air conditioner hitting my face makes me blink in shock momentarily. While I rambled in my head, I didn't even realize my body was on auto-pilot and had taken me through the door.

A man of average height and weight, with blue-spiked hair and a choker around his neck, springs up from behind the desk. He walks around and comes into my full view. He's wearing jeans that have been fashionably torn, with stylish chains hanging from the belt loops. "Mmm! Santa must be granting my wish _early_!" He exclaims with a grin, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

Oh, God. Motherfucking Santa Monica…this guy is sooooo gay. Which isn't a problem, except for the fact that he's hitting on me.

"I uh, need to see uh," I stammer and stutter, looking around the trendy space. I almost want to let out a laugh. At the end of the hall there's a poster of what I'm assuming are the owners of this place. They're posed back to back, with their arms folded across their chests. The positioning makes the women's hair colors contrast that much more. Their names are printed underneath their portrait.

Apparently "S Duo" is some clever name meant to represent "Stephanie and Stacy." Stacy is a brown-eyed blonde that's just a couple inches taller than her partner. The partner is the girl I'm looking for. Brown hair, blue eyes...Stephanie.

"I'm looking for Stephanie," I say, confidently.

"Damn!" The receptionist sulks before retreating behind his desk again and buzzing her office.

The first thing to come into my view is her legs. I can't help but notice how they stretch on endlessly, covered by her black, leather, calf-high boots and denim skirt that stops just above her knees. The limbs are shapely and I can tell that she works out. As she walks closer, I continue to take in the details of her quickly. She's got a very nice figure. Her hips are exactly right and her stomach is flat and toned, beneath her belted, black and blue blouse. Hey wait, she changed out of the coffee-stained shirt. Nice chest…not too big but definitely more than a 'handful.'

"Reg, can you excuse us for a minute?" Her voice asks of the receptionist politely.

I have no idea what the look on the receptionist's face is. I have yet to take my eyes off of Stephanie. I hear the shuffling of the guy as he scampers off.

My eyes continue upwards as she draws nearer and nearer to me. Finally, my eyes land on her face. Her mouth is perfect, her eyes are perfect.

And both convey perfect anger.

"Get the hell out!" She practically snarls, pointing a finger towards the door.

I sigh. What else did I expect after the way I treated her just ten or fifteen minutes prior? "Look Stephanie. I just came here to apologize. I'm having a shitty morning and I wasn't thinking. And you didn't deserve it and I'm sorry."

Her eyes widen in shock. "What are you, a stalker?" She asks. "How did you even know where I worked and why do you know my name?"

The rumble of my chuckle is audible even though I try to keep it in. She has every right to be concerned but it's still funny because I know that I mean her no harm. "I asked the barista at the café if you worked around here. As for your name?" I raise my eyebrows meaningfully and use my free hand to gesture to the poster in the back.

Stephanie glances backwards for a moment and when she turns to me again, her cheeks are stained pink. She's blushing.

It's extremely cute on her, actually. "I'm sorry that I stole your drink, spilled it on you and went off on you that way. I want you to have mine." I hold the cup out as a kind of peace offering.

Stephanie shakes her head and takes a step back. "I'm not drinking that. You probably poisoned it."

"I didn't. And I didn't take a sip, I promise. Will you take it? It'd make me feel a little bit better about what happened."

She folds her arms and jerks her head at the cup. "You embarrassed me in the café that I frequent by yelling and cursing at me, you ruined my shirt…thank God I keep extra clothes here," she rambles. "I had one of the worst mornings ever and having my favorite drink at my usual time was supposed to be where it started to turn around. But you ruined that…I didn't get my damn mocha and you expect me to swoon because you bring a likely tainted replacement that isn't even hot anymore?"

"Fuck," I say softly, looking down at my shoes. Way to go, Paul. Bring the girl a cold drink to try to make amends. Missing the damn mark, like always.

Stephanie heaves out a sigh. "Listen…umm."

My head lifts again. "Paul. Paul Levesque."

"Paul…I just want to get through this day. I appreciate the apology. Now if you'll excuse me…" she trails off and turns her back to me.

"I understand. I hope the rest of your day goes smoothly, Steph," I call out to her.

Abruptly, she stops walking and turns to look at me one last time. Her eyes connect with mine and she sends me a smile before nodding to accept my well-wishes. I can't help but notice how much more her eyes light up when she smiles. Her teeth are bright white and straight. Her cheeks have dimples. Why did I have to be such a jerk to such a freaking Goddess? "You too, Paul," she says before turning and disappearing down the corridor.

So she rejected my coffee and didn't entirely accept my apology. That's all right. I know that I'll get her to do both, soon enough. I know her name and I know where she works. I already wrenched a smile from her.

Plus, I now knew what her favorite drink was and where and when she went to get it on a regular basis.


	6. Chances Are

It took me almost half an hour of internet troubleshooting/loading the chapter to my phone and attempting to post the chapter from it, etc until I finally got this up. Sooooo if you like, love or hate this chapter I'd LOVE to hear it as a reward for my posting efforts, LOL.

With that said, this fic may end up being more chapters than I intended. Harder to write longer chapters from the 1st person POV. I always want to switch to the other perspective before I advance things too far, lol. I know impatience is creeping up but trust me...very soon there'll be some Paul/Steph hanging out, etc. Just setting things up right now :). ENJOY!

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Stephanie's POV

"So how long have - I mean when did you…Shit, I can't think," Stacy admits and presses a hand to her forehead.

I tuck a stray lock of wavy hair behind my ear, folding my arms across my chest as we continue walking down the busy street. "68 days ago," I reply automatically.

Stacy's eyes dart over to me in surprise for a moment. I nod and give her a dry smile, confirming her thoughts that I've been counting the days since receiving my diagnosis, before staring out into the sea of chaos again.

Of course I had kept track. Who wouldn't know the exact day that life as they knew it came crumbling down around them? At first I had only been keeping track of how many days ago my mother had passed away. She'd been gone for fifty-five days, when I found out about the cancer. So it's now been one-hundred and twenty-three days since my Mom died.

"Is it treatable?" Stacy asks cautiously.

"Treatable? Technically yes. Curable, barring a miracle from God? No. It began in my pancreas."

"Began?"

"They did a biopsy on my liver last week…a bit has spread there."

Stacy stops walking and looks at me incredulously. Her brown eyes flare with anger. "This isn't right! It isn't fucking fair! You're not even thirty yet! You're not a boozebag, you don't smoke, there's no family history of cancer! And you're a damn good person, Stephanie. I don't understand why this is happening!"

My arm loops through Stacy's and I somewhat pull her away from the crowd of people that have become interested in our conversation. "Cancer doesn't discriminate that way. It doesn't care about your hopes, your dreams. It doesn't care about the plans you've made or the people that will miss you. It just comes in and is so…fucking selfish, going wherever it wants, destroying everything until there's no life left in you."

"This is such bullshit," she says softly.

For the next minute, we walk in silence. We don't really have a destination in mind. We both just needed some damn air. If we keep going we'll eventually hit the beach, actually.

I'm somewhat sorry for the way I treated Paul. Yes, he was a complete dick this morning…but it was unbelievably sweet and good of him to track me down and apologize, even if the coffee he offered was probably cold. He didn't even get an attitude about the way I responded to him. I was just…so damn frustrated.

When our receptionist, Reginald, buzzed me, I'd been in the middle of trying to console Stacy. The interruption wasn't exactly welcome. I'd have told Reg to just tell whomever it was to return later. But since I've never turned away a visitor, that would have drawn questions and speculations. Questions and speculations that neither Stacy or I was in any condition to deal with. So I'd gotten myself together and walked on out. After the shock of seeing Paul wore off, I was immediately irritated.

After all, I needed something tangible to be mad at. Being mad at cancer wasn't useful since I'd been mad at that for two months now and it hadn't done a damn thing except make my condition worse. Being mad at Stacy just plain wasn't fair. She'd been one of the only people to stick by me no matter what. Being mad at Reg just wouldn't have made for a productive work environment. So Paul got the short end of the stick, I guess.

His reasoning for the temper had been that he had a shitty morning. Join the damn club. Unless he's been terminally ill and had just found out he's now twice as terminally ill, the suckiness of my morning no doubt outweighs his.

But I will admit…I couldn't help but smile at him when he called me, "Steph." The tone of his voice was so sincere, welcoming and familiar even though I know for sure we've never met before today. It was like…coming home somehow. I don't know what to make of that. I don't know what to make of the fact that despite the strange sensation that he created within me and the fact that he's a gorgeous man, I'm also all right with the notion that I'll never see him again.

Maybe it's because I've got bigger problems than whether or not I was too rude to him and/or hurt his pride. So I won't be doing what he did. I won't be going to the café inquiring about him and attempting to seek him out. What's done is done, as far as I'm concerned.

Stacy looks over at me curiously, before tugging a lock of my hair, hard, out of absolutely nowhere.

"Um…ow?" I say to her with a slight laugh.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "That's not a wig," she points out.

"Ya think?" I snort, rubbing at the now slightly sore spot on my scalp.

"You're not in chemo!" She says in a way that makes me feel like I've just broken the law. "Why aren't you in chemo?"

"Stace," I sigh. "It's complicated."

Her stare flattens, brown eyes narrowed at me. I know that look. Here comes the Spanish Inquisition followed by a Keibler lecture. "Five seconds ago you said it was treatable. You're not in chemo, which would be one of the only treatments possible at this point. So please make it uncomplicated for me. If you've discovered some clinical trial or experimental drug, then okay. But if you're just letting yourself die, Steph, I want to know why."

I shrug helplessly. Her words make me feel like this is just as bad as if I was committing suicide. And the look on her face makes me feel like crap. I've disappointed her.

For composure I bite down on my lip. This is the first time that I have to say what's fully going on, out loud. I'm not sure how well I'm going to do with that. "The survival rates for this disease are extremely low. From the time of diagnosis, most are dead within a year. Once it hits stage three it really can't be stopped entirely. They could do chemo to try to shrink the tumor. They could remove my pancreas, too. Then there'd be an eighty percent chance I'd have cancer again someplace else within five years because there were tiny amounts they couldn't find during the surgery. I won't do that to myself. The chances are-"

Stacy interrupts, pointing her index finger at me sharply. "Don't spout off statistics to me, Steph! You're not just some number. You're not just some fucking patient or case study. You're my best friend, damn it! And the chances are that there's still a chance. Why aren't you taking it?"

I don't mean to yell at her. I don't mean to have an attitude. But both of those things happen when I say, "Because apart from my friends and our business, my life is shit! Okay?"

Stacy throws an arm up in the air. "You can divorce Alex the asshole and be rid of his kid, too. You can find someone who truly loves and appreciates you. You can turn things around, Steph. But this is your solution instead? Dying is your choice? You're just gonna take the easy way out?"

"I don't have _time _to turn it around. I'll be dead before I can divorce him and fall for someone else! " I reply angrily.

Sullen brown eyes stare at me, making me regret the harshness with which I spoke. But it's still nothing but the truth. The truth hurts brutally. Stacy shakes her head and stays silent as she looks off towards Santa Monica Beach. The shoreline is visible from where we stand still on a street corner.

"I didn't choose this disease!" I whisper fiercely. "It chose me! If I could cure myself, I would. But I can't and I don't see why I should torture myself physically and get my hopes up for nothing. Especially when there's not much for me to live for right now," I admit without revealing the slightest bit of sadness. I'm over it. I'm over life, for the most part. I've accepted that it's going to end and mostly I'm fine with that. "You know...even if I was somehow granted more time, why would I make someone love me, only to watch me get violently ill and ultimately lose me in a few years, max?"

A loud sigh leaves Stacy and she rubs her forehead, already weary from all we've talked about this morning. "Hell, Steph," she whispers before lifting her eyes to mine. Her eyes are red and watery and she blinks hard to try to stop the dam of emotions that wants to come bursting out. "I just…you're my best friend," she says with a sad smile, shrugging at the absolute simplicity of her feelings. "We've been thick as thieves our entire lives. What am I gonna do without my sister?"

Now it's my turn to sigh. I avert my gaze upwards and close my eyes tightly for a moment before making myself look at my friend. She's my ace, my number one, my female partner in crime. She's seen me at my best and my worst and stayed a true and loyal friend through it all.

In the 5th grade I had a crush on a boy named Mitch. When he rejected me by yelling, "Girls have cooties!" in front of our entire class, Stacy kicked him in the shin.

We had planned to ride together with our dates to our high school, junior prom. Stacy's date ended up in the hospital with severe food poisoning and couldn't make it. So I cancelled my date and we went solo together. We made goofy expressions for the camera instead of being hugged up like a couple.

In high school, we covered for each other dozens of times, to sneak off on a date with a guy or to go to some raging party.

She's been my only confidante about my true motivations for marrying Alex. Despite knowing that I never truly loved him, she was still pissed as all hell to find out that he had used me even more than I'd used him.

I seriously have no idea what the hell I would do without her. I have no idea how I would cope or function if something bad happened to her. Something like a tragic car accident, fatal shooting, faulty wiring…

Or terminal cancer.

I don't bother trying to wipe away the lone tears that have escaped. "I don't know, Stace," I finally admit to her out loud. "I honestly don't know."


	7. I Don't Wanna Wait

This one's for MelHanshaw, who PMed, telling me to update, LOL. It's also for all of the reviewers of ch. 6.

Now...kay guys, this story has 10 followers but only a few reviews each chapter. Are we enjoying this one and wanting it to continue? Let me know via reviews, people :)

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Paul's POV

The sound of my black Escalade's powerful engine is magnified as I pull into my driveway. With all other sounds absent, it almost sounds like a damn monster truck. I park right smack in the middle of the driveway and shut the engine off. My hands still grip the steering wheel as I peer towards my house.

Something about this feels strange. Ominous. Something's going to be wrong, I can feel it. Fuck. Like the personal life side of my day can get any worse. Hopefully my whore ex-girlfriend didn't trash the place.

I snap off the seatbelt and step down from the driver's seat, slamming the door and locking the car as I walk towards my front porch.

Dragging along, looking at everything suspiciously is what I'm doing. Nothing looks amiss yet. The lawn is still perfectly groomed on either side of the walkway. The three porch steps are still done in their deep red color. The porch swing is still intact. The house still appears to be two stories high, with deep red trim.

My foot lands on the first step and my head shoots up when the front door flies open.

"PAULIE!" I hear Heather squeal before she runs across the porch.

My eyes are wide, I know. I want to protest what is clearly about to happen but all I manage is to make an "O" shape with my mouth right before Heather dives off of the end of the porch and directly on to me.

Momentarily, I stumble back before gaining my bearings. I go ahead and walk up the steps. Not because I want to be holding her…actually my arms are limply at my sides and she's doing all of the work. Meanwhile my face is turned down, grimacing as if I smell filth.

I go through the front door, slam it and immediately shake her off. "What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?"

"Paulie, baby!" She says, touching my chest with both of her hands, pouting up at me using her full lips that she's slathered with pink gloss. "I was waiting for you to get home from work."

My eyes narrow at her and my hands lift, to pry hers off of me before I step away. "Why? I told you that you and your shit needed to be gone before I got back."

She scoffs and waves her hand in dismissal of what I just said. "We all say things we don't mean when we're upset."

Upset? Upset? That's got to be the biggest understatement I've ever heard in my life. "I meant it, Heather. You have thirty fucking seconds to start getting this garbage out of my damn house before I start doing it for you!"

I sidestep her and try to walk…really I'm stomping…away from her. But she reaches out and grabs my wrist. "Paulie, wait!"

This is a testament for how little she cared or cares about me. On our very first date I told her how much I hate that damn nickname. It sounds like the name of an overweight mobster or something. She can't get back on my good side, no matter what she says. But the fact that she's using the name I hate is just making it worse. "Stop fucking calling me that!"

Heather takes a step back, blinking her green eyes in shock. "I'm sorry, Paul. For everything. I don't know what I was thinking…with Scott, with everything I said and did this morning."

"You know what? I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry that I let you mooch off of me for the last few months. I'm sorry I let Scott crash here so his drunk ass didn't get in an accident trying to get back to his shithole apartment. He's gone," I observe, looking around for any sign of him. "So why the hell are _you _still here?"

Heather shifts her stance, placing the majority of her weight on her left foot, so she can move her right one around nervously. A hand comes up to twirl her blonde hair around her index finger. "He doesn't want me," she admits, clearly embarrassed.

The laugh that comes out of my mouth is a balance of bitter, ironic and thoroughly amused. This nitwit actually thought the Scott Hall was going to sweep her off of her feet or something? She thought he was interested in more than sex? Wow…I don't know how I ignored her idiocy this long.

"It's not funny!" She says angrily, tossing the lock of hair over her shoulder. "He used me!"

"Actually it's hilarious that you thought that shithead was interested in more than just screwing you. If you want me to feel sorry for you, it ain't happening. Your thirty seconds is up by the way," I inform her casually before grabbing the first item of hers that I can find.

Well…this wouldn't have been my first choice. I'd prefer not to touch anything of hers. Certainly not something this…intimate. It's by my couch on the floor and it's bright pink. It's her thong. I'm guessing this was thrown on the floor this morning while she prepared to bang Scott. I carefully pick it up by one of the straps. "Charming," I say sarcastically, walking to the front door. I open it and toss the thong off the porch, down to the walkway.

"What the hell Paul?" She screams at me, coming closer.

I ignore her and walk around her, scanning the living room for something else that belongs to her. My eyes land on my entertainment system. I smile deviously I grab the large DVD cases lying on the side.

"Hmm let's see. Dawson's Creek, Roswell and Charmed," I read off as I slowly walk back to the door.

"Paul, don't you dare!" She says, tugging on my arm uselessly. I'm way stronger than her, so her pulling doesn't do anything except make me laugh.

Because I feel like being an ass, to convey to her that I'm serious about her getting out, I open up Dawson's Creek first. "I don't wanna wait," I sing in mockery of the show's theme song. "For youuuuuu to get the hell out. I want you gone right nowwwwww." I haphazardly pull a disc from its sleeve and throw it out into the yard like it's a damn Frisbee. "Doo doo oooh doo ooh do do ooh," I continue singing, tossing the discs out one by one.

"Stop it, Paul! Stop!" She says, running over to grab the remaining box sets from under my other arm before I can dismantle and destroy them, too. "I'll leave. Okay? Just don't throw anything else…please?"

I turn to her, the last disc of the set still in hand. I snap it in half and toss it at her feet. "You have one hour," I tell her coldly.

Heather nods somewhat solemnly, an actual tear rolling down her cheek. "I really am sorry," she says softly.

I'm not falling for this shit. She's not sorry for what she did. She's only sorry that she made the mistake of choosing Scott over me, thinking that the asshole actually wanted her.

Joke's on her. Now neither of us wants her. I glance down at my watch impatiently. "And you really do have fifty-nine minutes left."

The look on her face is incredulous and she shakes her head in disappointment, brushing past me to get back into the house.

I consider going back into the house but I change my mind. I want to make sure that she doesn't take any of my things with her when she goes. I walk to the far right of the porch, plopping down on the large, cushioned swing. I lean back and put my feet up, staring out towards the coastline.

During our entire relationship, Heather and I never sat out here together. I had the porch redone and the swing placed here when I bought the house, specifically so I could lie down, facing the direction of the water. The closest beach is only a couple of miles away, but we never went there together either. There were a lot of things that we didn't partake in as a couple. I find myself wondering what compelled me to believe we'd had anything of substance.

Heather's footsteps alert me that she's coming my way. She drags her suitcase out of the front door, struggling with the huge thing. She looks up at me pitifully as she passes by. But I make no move to help her. I'm done helping and caring about people like her. She goes down the steps still dragging the bag and I bite back a laugh when the suitcase lands on her foot after she yanks it from the steps and to the ground.

This next hour is gonna be quite entertaining.

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The next chapter is done. The faster you guys reply letting me know if you'd like to read it, the faster it goes up *grin*


	8. Purpose

Decided to post this before I hit the sheets...cause I'm impatient...and nice. LOL.

Okay so now we've had 4 chapters each from Paul and Steph, all detailing the exact same day. The next chapter will jump to a different day and mayyyyyybe if enough people want it (which, well, you can only let me know by reviewing) we'll see Paul catch up with her at the cafe or work. Your choice, readers! :-D ENJOY!

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Stephanie's POV

"How's he doing, sis?" I ask with a sigh. I'm always hopeful that things will be markedly improved. And so far, it hasn't happened yet.

Marissa returns my sigh with one of her own. "Sometimes he seems to be getting a little better, but then he just goes right back into his funk."

"Same old," I reply sadly. "How's my nephew?"

"S.J. is good…growing like a weed, I swear."

I shake my head for a moment, glancing up at the sky. Why? Just why? My nephew, Shane Jr. is two years old. He won't even remember his only auntie. I love that little guy so much and he won't have a single memory of me that he can hold on to. I won't get the chance to be an active part of his childhood. He won't know his grandmother because she's passed on. He won't know his grandfather Vince or Uncle Seth because Shane won't have anything to do with our Dad or the child born as a result of his affair and second marriage.

"And I'll bet he's still as handsome as ever," I comment lightheartedly. Marissa knows me well. I can't get all mopey or she'll start probing.

"You know it," she confirms and I can hear the smile in her voice.

"How's everything else? Work, money, etcetera?"

Marissa snorts a little. She had to know I would ask eventually. "If Shane found out you were giving all of this money…"

My sister-in-law doesn't finish her sentence. We both know what the outcome would be if my brother found out that his baby sister was halfway supporting the family that he should be. He'd deny the money, but still probably not pull himself together enough to be the breadwinner.

"That's why he's not going to find out. I'm not letting you guys go homeless and starve because of his pride. You keep coming to me as long as you need to," I say seriously.

Bereavement benefits lasted for only three days following my mother's death. Shane then extended his time off by calling in his sick days. When that ran out, he'd just taken a personal extended leave of absence. No work, no money. Marissa hadn't been working because Shane had insisted she stay home with the baby once he was born. Until S.J. is old enough to talk in full sentences, Shane isn't comfortable leaving him in anyone's care, really. He's seen one too many news articles and stories about child abuse by caregivers and nannies on infants and toddlers.

It wasn't a bad plan. But when he stopped working, the plan got screwed up. Three weeks ago, Marissa got a part-time night gig being a bartender a few nights a week. She refused to get a daytime job because her son was up during the day and in need of care and a watchful eye. It sounds bad, but with Shane's depressed and melancholy state ever since our mother's death, Marissa doesn't feel comfortable leaving him to look after the baby for more than an hour. At night, S.J. is sleeping so she feels fine with leaving Shane to look after him.

"Hah, homeless!" Marissa laughs, somewhat bitterly. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have even made our mortgage this month."

My fingers grip the steering wheel of my silver Chevrolet Camaro tightly. I can't believe this. Shane and I both took it extremely hard when our parents' marriage dissolved. Harder still, when Dad remarried, to the woman he'd cheated on our mom with. I was definitely "Team Mom" but I never cut off my Dad completely. Nor had I completely forgiven him or his new wife. I refuse to acknowledge the woman as my stepmother because it just goes down like dry, bitter pills.

However, I do love my little brother tremendously. It kind of helps that Seth practically worships the ground I walk on. Clearly my Dad named him, since his name begins with an "S" just like mine and Shane's. Seth just turned ten and according to my Dad he's constantly going on and on about his big sister. He thinks I'm the coolest, smartest, prettiest girl walking the face of the earth.

Even if he didn't idolize me, I would still make an effort to be in his life. He's my brother. Shane won't make an attempt to be in his life simply because he hates Vince far too much to have anything to do with his new life. Unfortunately, in Shane's mind, that includes Seth.

After a period of intense grieving over the loss of my mother, I pulled myself together. The world kept spinning and life had to go on. I had to be functional again. I don't know why the hell I bothered since I soon found out about the cancer…but yet I continued pressing on.

Shane, on the other hand? Despite my own tears, shaking and hyperventilating, I was the one consoling him at the funeral. Marissa and Stacy also tried to help, but Shane mostly clung to me.

Alex, of course, did absolutely fucking nothing that was useful. An occasional pat on the back or stiff-assed hug. With the exception of Stacy's comforting words and gestures, I grieved all by myself. There was no one to hold me at night and whisper that everything would be okay. There was no one to make love to me, making me feel safe and cared for even as the rest of the world melted away during our union.

My brother had his wife to open up to. But instead of recovering, Shane just sank into this sullen, depressed state where he just doesn't much feel like doing anything or going anywhere. And he refuses to talk to a professional about it.

Clearly, he thinks that Marissa's tips at the bar are enough to handle the bills. That or he just isn't thinking that deeply at all.

"I've got a plan," I tell Marissa. "Everything will work out and you guys will be taken care of for the long-run. I promise."

"What plan? What are you talking about, Steph?"

My will. That's what I'm thinking but I can't tell her that. I've left her and Shane my house in Florida. I snagged it when it was in foreclosure and saved myself a small fortune. I hadn't told Shane about it when I did it, because he didn't believe in buying foreclosed properties and I didn't want to hear his lectures and caution at the time. I'm glad I'd kept that one away from him because he'd have talked me out of a sweet deal.

It's a prime piece of real estate because of its proximity to the beach and other tourist attractions. The house is paid off in full and I just rent it out during the spring and summer months, especially. So, my brother's family can move to Florida – a fresh start might be just what they need…or they can sell the house and use the money to pay off their own mortgage and have a nice chunk left over. "Just trust me, Riss. I've got this."

"Okay," she says simply. My word is my all and she knows that. If I say I'll do it, I will. Even if I'm miraculously cured I will still find a way to take care of them.

"Meanwhile, Shane is eventually going to want to know how shit isn't getting shut off yet. Instead of giving you cash that he may find, just start sending me the bills and I'll pay them directly."

A loud sigh is her response.

"Let me help," I plead with her. Please let me help…I want to do as much as I can for the people I love before I leave them. I won't spend the precious little time I have left, being greedy or stingy.

"I love you, Steph. Thank you," she finally relents.

"I love you all. Give S.J. a kiss from his auntie."

"Will do."

With that, she clicks off and I relax. I'm not sure why I'm bothering to release my tension. I know that Alex and Jamie will say and do things to eventually make it skyrocket again. But for now I think I'll just let the top down on my car and enjoy the wind whipping through my hair.

I speed up to the yellow light, simply so I can have more time to sit while it's red. I tinker with the inside of the car until finally, my roof recedes and the sun comes into my full view. Well, what's left of it anyway. It's nearly seven, so it's sitting not very far above the water...or so it seems anyway. I inhale deeply and close my eyes for just a moment, sighing in contentment. I can already smell the water.

These are the moments I've come to live for. Moments of quiet, comfort and relaxation. No Alex, no Jamie, no crumbling, dysfunctional family in general. No cancer. No nothing. Just me and the horizon.

The light changes to green and I press my boot to the gas pedal, my sports car taking off towards the Pacific Coast Highway.

Yes, this is bliss. This must be heaven on earth. The real heaven has got to be even better than this. I feel the left side of my mouth turn up in the tiniest of smiles as I realize that I'm not afraid. All things will work according to God's ultimate plans. Not all things will be _all good _but they're going to work for a greater purpose.

No, I'm not yet sure what that purpose is exactly. But believing, without a shadow of a doubt that there is one, puts me at ease.

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Go to my profile and check out the poll I started for this fic. I will close the poll next Sunday. Thanks for the idea, Nicole I didn't even realize I could create polls LOL


	9. Unsuspecting Guest

Kay, so! First off, thank you all for the reviews! I really appreciate them. Second, this chapter is courtesy of Miss Shannon, who has been pestering me to write this (though PMs and literally through reviews of other stories, LOL) for days now.

As for the poll? For those of you who didn't see the memo I left in BL, I've decided that will stay up until just a few chapters before the conclusion of this one. Keep in mind that on average, this fic's chapters will be shorter than my other fics because I want to capture both characters inner thoughts, without too much time passing between companion chapters.

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"Thank you," I say to the barista with a wide grin. It's the same kid who helped me out last time, which makes me extremely optimistic about this. I have to admit, I'm pretty damn pleased with myself today. Stephanie will get her damn mocha…whether she wants it or not.

I chuckle to myself at that thought while I head over to the rack of newspapers and magazines. I retreat to a vacant corner not far from the register and take a seat, opening up the latest edition of the Los Angeles Times, to obscure my face.

As I wait for my unsuspecting guest to arrive, I allow my thoughts to drift to everything and nothing at all.

Over the weekend, Scott's drunk ass showed up on my front porch to explain himself. His version of an apology was, "Bro's before hoes, dude. She was a skank. Aren't you glad you found out before you married her or somethin'?"

At this, I snorted. It was typical Scott Hall. He'd run his hand through his black, curly hair and then promptly lost his balance and literally tripped, landing directly on the carpet of my living room. I sighed and dragged his sorry ass all the way in. I let him sleep where he was on the floor.

And then the next morning, after he'd woken up and sobered up, I told him to get the hell out. Sure, Heather was a skank. But for Scott to act like he'd done me some selfless favor was inexcusable.

My other main friends – Shawn, Kevin, Sean, Brian and Monty – all side with me on this one. For a group of guys where almost all are almost as terrible to women as Scott is, that's really saying something. Scott broke the cardinal rule: don't screw your friends' girl, no matter the relationship status or quality.

Surprisingly, Heather hasn't completely gone over the edge like I thought she might. Oh sure, I get a voicemail…or four, from her each day. But since she hasn't shown up unexpectedly at my home, that means she hasn't lost all of her marbles.

My sister, Lynn, was unapologetic when I told the family about what had happened. A smirk and an, "I told you she was trash," were her sisterly words of wisdom. Right before Mom popped her on the arm. I chuckled, and then Lynn popped me on the arm, which earned a shrug from our Mom and Dad. So I'm not really sure who was the winner in that conversation, if there was one.

Mom and Dad were sympathetic, but mostly agreed with Lynn. They're all so sure that I'm a good guy with a lot to offer the right woman. And if I could just be fated to meet said girl, everything would turn out peachy. I wouldn't have to try to be nicer, nor would I feel it necessary to bottle myself up. When the right one comes, damn it, I'd just know. I'd know because I'll be able to be myself around her. I wouldn't have to change my personality for our relationship to work.

But I told them that I was honestly burned out on relationships for the moment. I told them about the poor lady I'd spilled coffee on. Needless to say, everyone was ashamed of how I'd talked to her. I was raised to be more respectful than that. I neglected to mention that I was now semi-stalking the girl in an attempt to replace the coffee she literally should have had 3 days ago. But whatever, at least I'm trying here.

The little bell in the café dings, alerting those of us who are listening, that someone has either entered or exited the door. I peer around the newspaper cautiously and there she is. Stephanie. The light breeze blows her chestnut hair a little bit, before the door closes completely. She smiles in the direction of the kid before walking forward.

Today she's kept it simple: a tropical looking halter top, jeans and flip flops. It makes me feel overdressed, being that I'm in business clothes, with freshly shined shoes. But that's the world of finance for you; you have to look like you're prepared to know where to invest some company's millions of dollars. You've got to look just as stuffy as they do.

I can't hear the conversation at the register because my own thoughts won't shut the hell up. Stop, I order myself, leaning my ear over a little, as if that will actually help my hearing.

"Paid for?" Stephanie asks in puzzlement. "Oh!" She brightens. "You guys are giving me a free drink because of what happened last week? That's so sweet."

"Uh uh," the kids disagrees with a small chuckle. "Paid for. As in someone walked in, ordered for you and paid…with money."

"Who?" She asks, suspiciously.

"Over there," the kid says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "With the newspaper."

Quickly, I duck fully behind the newspaper, as Stephanie begins to turn around. The kid has earned himself another twenty for informing her of who paid for the drink, without revealing my exact identity. I didn't want Stephanie to take off running before I had the chance to get close enough to talk to her. I turn the page of the newspaper, pretending like I'm actually reading the damn thing, as I hear – more like sense – her approaching.

Above me, her throat clears softly. "Hey," she says. "Thanks for the drink. How'd you know I like-"

Her voice trails off, her eyes widen and her cheeks redden when I lower the paper and grin at her.

"P-Paul," she somewhat stammers. Clearly she expected me to stop trying to replace her coffee, given that an entire weekend has passed since the incident. Not so!

"Hello Stephanie," I greet politely. "How are you this morning?"

I watch her face intently, noticing that her cheeks are starting to look less flushed as she's regaining her bearings. "I'm fine," she answers with a disbelieving chuckle. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Whether or not it stays that way is totally in your hands, though."

Curiously, she lifts one of her perfectly formed eyebrows. "How so?"

"Well," I trail off mysteriously and fold up my newspaper, tossing it to an empty table beside mine. "Depends on whether or not you'll accept a _freshly _made, _steaming_ hot, _uncontaminated _white mocha from me and maybe keep me company while you drink it." I'm hoping that I touched on each and every last complaint that she had with the prior replacement. I'm pretty sure I nailed it…which is quite sad, but in a really funny way.

Her mouth parts as if she's got something to say. Whether it's words of acceptance or protest, I have no idea. Yet instead of words coming out, it's her laughter that abruptly reaches my ears instead. A laughter that seems to have come from some void in her soul; some place of repression. Like maybe she hasn't genuinely been amused for quite some time. I don't know if that's true or not. But the thought makes me smile hugely at her anyway.

"Two white mochas," the barista announces. Stephanie turns around, preparing to go grab the drinks. But I stand up, reach out and touch her arm. "You sit. I'll go."

A brief flicker of reluctance is there, but she nods and plops down in the seat across from the one I just vacated. I wander over to the barista, popping a twenty in the tip jar before grabbing the two cups of coffee.

I come back to Stephanie, sliding one of the cups across to her as I reclaim my seat.

"Sooooo," I drone out before blowing at my cup to cool the first sip down. "How is my morning going to go?"

After a moment of silent confusion on her end, I see the remembrance of my extremely recent invitation, dawn on her face. A wide smile graces her lips and makes her dimples come out to greet me. She takes a cautious sip of her drink and savors the flavor for a moment. "I haven't decided yet," she comments.

The ocean's eyes sparkle at me playfully and it's then, that I definitely know: yes she has.


	10. Fire

Wrote this at 12am so I apologize for any suckiness or typos. LOL.

But it was time to really get the ball rolling with this one - and punkrockgirl98 spent the weekend hounding me for an update of something LOL :)

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Stephanie's POV

Fire is the answer.

Paul seems to be a quite observant man. So I know that he caught the look on my face when he touched my arm and told me to sit down while he grabbed the drinks. But he probably can't gauge the look.

When his hand touched my skin, I felt this strange burning sensation flutter up my arm and all the way into my chest. It shocked the hell out of me, that's why I was just kind of frozen for a moment. I was wondering exactly what was happening to me and why. In that instance, time seemed to stand still. I had the distinct thought that the next few minutes would have one of two end results: either I'd cross a line I ought not to and pay for it dearly or this would be the best thing I'd ever done.

Funny how I got all that from a simple cup of coffee and a hand on my arm.

Paul leans back in his chair casually, rubbing at his beard while he eyes me curiously. "For someone who's undecided you sure do seem to have settled in," he observes with a smile.

I feel myself smiling back automatically. I wonder if there's anything I can do _but _smile at the man; it sure seems to come very instinctively today. "I have a particular weakness for white mochas," I say truthfully.

"So I've noticed," he chuckles, his brown eyes twinkling with his amusement.

Fuck me, now I'm giggling right along with him. Just days ago I was cursing the ground he walks on and now I'm completely giddy after just a few minutes of sitting with him.

Paul's chuckle dies out and he licks his lips for just a second. He seems a bit nervous. "Hey listen, Steph…" he begins.

There's the fire again. Only this time it originates in my chest. Even a few days ago, the use of my nickname melted my bitchy demeanor towards him. It's like…we know each other already – which is entirely fucking impossible because I'd remember meeting him. I mean, _look _at him!

Now that I'm not angry with him I can appreciate how good looking he is. His face isn't what I'd call cute; cute is for baby faced looking guys. Paul doesn't look baby faced. His face is undeniably handsome, but there's something very manly and rugged about his features. Even the long, blonde, loosely curly hair that he's tied up somehow just adds to that aura.

He's tall and clearly made from pure muscle…and yet there is something about him that puts me at complete ease with him. Maybe it's his eyes. There's passion and sincerity that floats along the surface of the golden brown color. Or maybe it's his smile – the only thing about this downright sexy man that I'd consider to be "boyishly cute."

Paul tilts his head to the side and looks at me, his expression mirroring that of a confused puppy. "Yoo hoo? Steph?" He asks, suddenly waving his big hand in front of my face. "You still with me here?"

My head shakes rapidly and the haze that has clouded my mind leaves. It is then that I realize that while I sat here pondering and dissecting Paul's features, he was actually speaking. "Sorry." I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks in embarrassment. I wonder if he caught me staring. Part of me hopes that he didn't. Part of me just wonders what he would think of that, if he did. "I spaced out on you there. It's been a long weekend," I admit with a low sigh.

Paul laughs for a moment and his posture returns to normal before he shrugs. "Hey it gets like that sometimes. I was just reiterating my apology about Friday. I was going through some personal issues earlier that day and then I was a complete and utter asshole to you. I just want you to know I don't normally behave like a caveman."

I wonder if my jaw will be sore later from all the smiling he's making me do. Seriously, I don't understand this. Even when Alex was being fake-charming and fake-loving I don't think I ever felt this comfortable or happy to be around him. "Well, seeing as I have the civilized Paul here now, I can definitely tell. And I also apologize for being a total bitch when you tracked me down. I was having a really crappy day."

Great, I'm lying already. Crappy day is an understatement, considering that my life itself is shit…and that on that particular day it somehow managed to get shittier.

Paul waves his hands in dismissal of my apology. "You weren't a bitch. Believe me, I've known some bitches and you're nothing like them, so far."

"That sucks that you've been subjected to worse than how I was on Friday," I comment with a grin.

Paul shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. I'd love for him to elaborate on the whole "bitches" topic but it isn't my place to ask and it doesn't look like he's going to volunteer the information. Somehow I'm guessing that it had to do with the "personal issues" he was going through.

"You really weren't that bad," he says absentmindedly, looking out towards the crowded street outside. It seems like he's in deep thought, with a million things running through his mind. But his mouth remains closed. I wonder if he even realizes we're still sitting here together.

"Do you come here pretty often?" I ask, feeling completely lame once the question is out of my mouth. I sound like some prick trying to hit on a girl at a bar. Paul turns his head and his smile makes me feel like we were thinking the same thing. "I've never seen you around here," is my clarification.

"I come in randomly," he answers. "I'm not addicted to caffeine like you are."

My nose scrunches up in pretend insult. "Hey! We just properly met and you're already diagnosing my psych issues?"

His hands lift in defense of his innocence. "You're the one who said this is the usual time you get your mocha. I'm assuming that means you're a regular."

"Yeah," I say slowly, suspicious of where he's going with this.

He shoots me a wide smile. "Sounds like you've got yourself a habit there, missy," he says confidently.

"Oh, shut up," I huff out but can't stop the damn corners of my mouth from turning up in complete betrayal. "You're clearly addicted to-to-ah…weightlifting. Yeah. Working out and stuff."

Abrupt laughter comes out of him and a few patrons glance in our direction, to momentarily join in the amusement. "Sharp eye you've got there, Stephanie," he says.

"I do what I can."

"Well it's nice to know that your eyes do more than just sit there being all blue and amazing – they do some work, too."

Both of my eyebrows raise in question. "Are you flirting with me?"

Paul crosses his arms and leans forward on the table. "If you'd like me to, then it's a yes. If not, then no, I was just stating the obvious."

This might be a good time to mention a few things: I'm married, I have a stepdaughter, I'm supporting my currently deadweight brother and his family and I'm dying of cancer. I'm in no position whatsoever to be initiating or reciprocating anything romantic with this guy.

But…after telling Stacy about how Alex and Jamie ruined yet another of my weekends, she suggested that I be…selfish.

That's one word for it. She'd said that we only live once and that everyone should make the most out of it – be as happy as you possibly could, have as much fun as you could stand, laugh until it hurt, love the people around you until it felt like your heart would burst…and then love some more.

This was true for me especially, since my time was going to be more limited than most people's. In fact, I had catching up to do since I'd spent much of my life taking care of or living up to other's expectations and desires for my life.

I may be stuck in a loveless marriage simply because there's not enough time to get out of it, but that doesn't mean I have to roll over and die before I'm dead.

A new determination fills me and my gloomy world suddenly seems just a little bit brighter. Paul seems nice, but given the way he looks, he could easily be a player. If he doesn't ask for clarification as things progress, neither will I. If he wants to keep things light and fun, great. That's my preference and it's really all that I have to give him at this time; it'll keep everyone from getting hurt at some point.

I'll just go with the flow and see what happens. "I like it," I finally say to Paul.

His hand reaches across the table and he brushes back a stray lock of hair that has fallen out of my ponytail. His fingertips just barely skittered across my neck to flick the hair over my shoulder. Normally I'd recoil at a guy touching me so intimately, so quickly.

Disregarding that fact that I'm unhappily married, I'd usually just be uncomfortable with the fact that a man would have the balls to make such a…gesture. Yet I don't feel that with Paul. It feels natural.

There's that fire again. And yeah…I like it a lot.


	11. Sunshine

My apologies that it took so long to get this out! The formatting of this one is Paul's POV and then Stephanie's. I'm not sure if every single chapter will be split up that way but it's a definite possibility. Don't forget to check out the poll and the trailer for this fic, located on my profile :). Enjoy and let me know what you think!

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Paul's POV

I'm not sure what just happened between Stephanie and me. I'm not sure what it is that I'm doing…or what we're doing. I'm not sure what any of this means or if it even matters at this point.

One thing that I'm sure of is that even though I'm already nervous and confused, I can't stop myself from smiling.

What was supposed to be a ten – maybe fifteen minute impromptu, surprise meeting, turned into an entire half an hour being gone without us realizing that time was passing us by. We'd just been sitting there chatting and teasing each other like old college friends. Despite the fact that we just officially met we had an instant connection.

And then I shocked the hell out of both of us when, "I'd love to hang out with you outside of this coffee shop," popped out of my mouth in a completely random fashion. Stephanie's eyes had gone wide and her mouth parted slightly. I wanted to retract the invite…not because it wasn't the truth but because I could see the brief deliberation going on in her mind. If she said no, I'd be completely embarrassed.

Unable to bring myself to form any more words, I sat and waited for what seemed like ten minutes. In reality it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds before the unthinkable happened: Stephanie beamed a smile at me and said, "I'd love that, too."

For some reason I didn't want to leave without making solid plans with her. Though she's open, friendly, funny and vibrant there's just something about her that makes me feel like she's not totally present. Almost as if her mind has gone someplace else or that she's prepared to bolt.

Interesting how I got all of that after knowing her for all of an hour. But the woman is a paradox and it's a mystery to me. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't compelled to figure out what the big secret to Stephanie McMahon is.

So tonight at eight we're meeting at P.F. Chang's. No one goes in there wearing sweats or shorts, but it isn't so upscale that it's stuffy and boring. It's a relaxed, fun atmosphere but the dim lighting casts a romantic yet comfortable aura. In addition to the pier and beach, there are tons of restaurants, bars and shops around, so the night doesn't have to end there if we don't want it to.

As I walk through the sliding double doors of Gaston Investments, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my slacks. I stick my hand in and pull out my iPhone. I have a message from Shawn.

_Becca's mad at me, gonna give her space to cool down before I go home. Hanging with the boys tonight. U down?_

I twist my lip while I consider. Sounds like he's already got a group going, so my absence won't leave him out to dry alone. I key in my reply.

_Can't. Have plans._

Shawn's reply appears before my screen can even dim.

_With who? Lol. Basically all our friends are coming out tonight._

I can feel myself smiling hugely when I write back.

_Got a date!_

_It's not Heather is it? _Shawn asks.

_God, no! I'm done with her for good._

_So it's a new chick?_

My friends are so damn nosy. But it does no harm to answer these questions, I guess. They're bound to find out sooner or later. _Yup._

_She hot?_

I snicker as I enter my office. Of course that's always the first question my friends asks about a new girl. Questions pertaining to intelligence, employment and sanity always come later. I suppose that for them, being hot is a prerequisite. Aforementioned girl doesn't matter unless she first passes the hotness test. Well, Stephanie most certainly does and then some. _Smoking!_

_Niiiiiice!_

With a shake of my head I place my phone down on my desk and settle down into the plush leather chair, so I can begin moving my clients' money around strategically.

Stephanie's POV

I'm sitting at my desk browsing tile patterns on my computer. I know exactly what my client wants, now it's just a matter of finding it. I've been going through this particular vendor's selections for ten minutes and I still don't see what I'm looking for. Maybe I'll have to have it custom made or something.

The intercom buzzes. "Stephanie, Alex is on line two for you," Reggie announces.

An audible sigh leaves my mouth. I even feel myself rolling my eyes. My morning had been going perfectly until now. I managed to bolt out of the house without seeing or speaking to my husband or his child. Surprisingly there wasn't much traffic as I made my way from Westwood to Santa Monica. I dropped in for my morning coffee and not only did I get it for free, but I also landed myself something that I hadn't been expecting.

A date.

I have a date. I'm married. And the date isn't with my husband. I mean Paul and I didn't specifically say that it was a date. But with the time and place we're meeting up…and the flirtatious banter we had over coffee, what the hell else could I classify it as?

I pick up my phone and allow the call to come through.

"Hey Alex." My tone is neutral – maybe even bored. I don't call him honey, baby, sweetheart or any other term of endearment I've used in past relationships. This marriage is complete shit because I feel absolutely nothing for him.

"Hey Stephanie." And he feels absolutely nothing for me.

"What's up?" I ask, continuing to click through the patterns online.

"I need a favor."

Another roll of my eyes. When _doesn't _he supposedly need a favor from me? Hell when does he make an effort to talk to me unless he wants something? "I'm listening."

"Jamie's trying out for the lead part in _The Wizard of Oz_ at school. Because so many of the kids have sports practices that don't end until the early evening, the try out is set for six."

"Okay…"

"Could you take her and also bring her home?"

No. Just…no. The brat doesn't take up sports because she feels athleticism is for girls who secretly want to be boys. God forbid she mess up her nails or have to tie up her hair. Therefore, she's out of school and ready to come home by four. She has drama practice every day from three to four. If you ask me, she may as well quit while she's ahead; the girl can't act worth shit. "I can't."

On the other line, Alex heaves out a frustrated breath. "Why can't you?"

"Well why can't _you_?" I shoot back with an attitude.

"I'm meeting a client for drinks. As long as we're in and have made the first order while happy hour is still on, we get to keep ordering for those prices."

You would, you cheap bastard. "I've got plans, Alex. I can't cancel them at the last minute. I'm sure you knew of Jamie's tryout well before now." Hell, I just don't want to cancel. I can't. I want to see Paul again and get to know him better. It feels like I don't have much of a choice in the matter…like I'm being pulled to him by some gravitational force.

"It slipped my mind."

Sure it did. Just like everything slips your mind and you expect me to drop my plans in favor of what you don't feel like doing. "Figure something else out," I tell him plainly.

"This is unacceptable, Stephanie!" He tells me so sharply that I actually flinch in my seat a little bit. "I'm sick of your selfish attitude. All right? We're supposed to be a team!"

I don't immediately realize that the laughter that I'm hearing is my own. "Team? Alex _what _do you ever do for me, huh? All you do is ask me for favors at the last minute. We hardly talk; you don't ever bother asking how my day went. To be brutally honest I don't even understand why you're still married to me! You never tell me you love me and you damn sure don't act like you do."

"This is bullshit and you know it! I work hard to provide for you and Jamie and all I ask of you is a little help with her. You're the only mother she's got right now and-"

"Stop right there!" I interrupt. "In case you haven't noticed, your daughter hates me. I'm not picking up the slack just because you keep making random plans on days where you're supposed to be doing things for her."

"What's gotten into you, Stephanie? I don't understand where this hostility is coming from. And this nonsense about me not telling you I love you? When's the last time _you _told me you loved me?" His tone sounds genuine and I find myself shocked. Surely he can't think that this is just beginning. He can't have been blind to the fact that our relationship has gone to shit ever since the day Jamie arrived. Hell, even before that it was starting to crumble. Her arrival just made it speed up.

The dull ache that begins in my back is far too familiar. Fucking cancer.

I don't know when I last told Alex I loved him…but whenever it was, it was a total lie anyway. And quite frankly I'm tired of living the lie. "I have work to do. Figure out something with Jamie. Bye."

Before Alex can respond, I hang up the phone. It's not until a bead of wetness falls from my chin that I realize I'm crying. Fucking Alex, fucking Jamie. Fucking Shane falling apart, on top of still refusing to talk to Dad or see Seth.

My personal life is pretty much in shambles, except for my relationships with my friends. Paul is new so that hasn't gone to hell. Then again, we started off on such a sour note that it probably can't go anywhere except up. I began my day with him, really. And with our plans for dinner, I'm damn well going to end it with him. It's unlikely that Alex is going to be able to find someone else to handle the Jamie thing. That means that if I run home to change around seven, as I'd originally planned, I'm going to run into them and into an argument.

I pull out my cell and scroll down to Paul's name.

_Want to move dinner up to seven? _That means I could get home right after they leave for the tryout and avoid seeing them altogether.

_Why the change?_

_I'm going to be starving. Plus, I can't wait to see you. _That's the God's honest truth. I'm just choosing not to mention the avoidance of my husband and stepdaughter.

_Seven it is, gorgeous. _

The heat that rushes to my cheeks is nothing other than a blush. I feel the bitterness and the anger slowly leave me. Maybe Paul was sent to me t help me endure what's left of my life. To ease away my unhappiness and give me something to look forward to. I don't know what we are or what we will become. I don't know what's going to happen between us.

But something tells me that he's my ray of sunshine shining through the dark clouds that surround me.


	12. Wow

Annnnnnnnd let the cuetness begin! Anxious to see your reactions to this chapter, now the story can really begin to move forward! Yay for squee and sad!

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Stephanie's POV

I smooth out the imaginary wrinkles in my purple sun dress. It's simple and cute, without being too revealing. It's perfect for the casual setting of this restaurant, but nice enough for a date. It's also fitting, given the fact that it's a warm night out.

As I turn to leave the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I stop to stare at myself for a moment as the entirety of today hits me like a ton of bricks.

What the hell am I doing? What the hell, what the hell, what the _hell_?

I've planned and succeeded at avoiding my husband and stepdaughter.

Not because they drive me crazy…and not in a good way.

Not because I'm desperate for some alone time.

Not because I have business to take care of and they'd get in the way.

No. I've avoided them so that I don't have to explain why I refuse to "help out" this evening. Quite frankly I have something much better to do. And it's not something that I ever expected to be doing: going on a date…while I'm married…and not to the person that I'm married _to_.

Alex and I don't really have much of a relationship. We're not at all romantic with each other. We're barely coexisting as roommates. And I don't trust him at all. A part of me seriously wishes he'd just up and leave me simply so I didn't have to go along with this charade anymore.

Then again, I'm rapidly reaching the point where I hardly give a shit about pretending that I'm okay with our current arrangements. I just don't think that it's proper to fight like cats and dogs in front of children. And Jamie is nearly always around when Alex asks me to go well and unnecessarily out of my way for him.

Even though I ended up in tears, it felt _so _good to just go off the way I did on the phone. I wonder if this will ultimately change the way he views me and this preposterous marriage.

But right now I've pushed it to the back of my mind. At the forefront is the man that's sitting at the table, patiently waiting for me to return from the bathroom.

"Sorry about that," I apologize and plop down across from him in the booth.

Paul's dressed in a grey polo shirt, dark blue jeans and casual shoes. It's a simple look; not overdone and not underdone. He looks comfortable, but still exceptionally well put together. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I find myself getting lost in his hazel eyes when his head lifts from the alcoholic beverage menu. He flashes a smile at me. "No problem," he says easily.

Fuck, if he's not the sexiest man I've ever laid eyes on.

My head shakes in mild bewilderment. "How in God's name are you single?" I blurt out without thinking.

Paul laughs loudly, while I find myself with my hands covering my mouth in complete horror. That was so damn rude. Like I'm implying that there's something wrong with him. "I could ask you the same question," he responds.

Oh, God. Don't. Please don't. I can't tell you the truth, but I can't lie either because I fucking suck at it. "Seriously," I insist. "Surely there's got to be some special woman in your life."

Paul shrugs. "There was. We broke up on Friday, actually."

Ah. My mind immediately replays fragments of our conversation from this morning. Personal issues and bitches had piqued my interest especially because he was so vague. Now I've made the connection with our coffee incident on Friday and what he was saying today. "Oh. I'm…sorry to hear that…?" That was meant to come out as a statement because I'm sorry that whatever happened had put him in a shitty mood. But other than that, I'm not sorry. If the break up hadn't happened, we may not have met that day. Meaning that we ultimately wouldn't be sitting here right now.

I don't know what's going on exactly but I do know that there's no place else I'd rather be at the moment.

"Don't be sorry. Honestly? My girlfriend before that broke up with me, saying that I was a jerk. With this last one I tried to be as kind as I possibly could. She had no place to live and no job so I let her move in and didn't ask her to pay anything. She totally took advantage of that...it went on for months. I caught her cheating on me with my deadbeat, hung-over and half-drunk friend from high school Friday morning. She dumped me, claiming that I was too nice. And I'd had enough of her shit anyway...so I'm not phased by her desperate attempts to come crawling back."

My eyes widen in surprise. _That, _I did not expect. Paul is complete man candy. Even if by some strange anomaly, he isn't more than decent in the bedroom, that's something that could always be taught. Why resort to cheating, especially with one of his friends? A friend that's a useless drunk from the sound of things. Clearly, his ex-girlfriend has zero class whatsoever.

The "bitches" comment from this morning makes total sense, given that the woman was mooching off of him for an extended period of time. I can understand why he was so wound up on Friday. But the real Paul is showing through now and so far I very much like being around him. He's not an asshole or a jerk, like our first meeting would suggest. And instead of being "too nice" I find him to be just right.

Despite the fact that he's relieved about losing the unfaithful leech, I can still detect bitterness. It's totally understandable; some people don't get over this kind of stuff for months or even years. Paul has only had three days to process it all.

This just reinforces the already obvious fact that we can't and shouldn't start anything. I'm running out of time…and time is what he needs for whatever wounds he has to heal.

"Are you dating someone else right now?"

"No," I say freely and with a smile. I'm not dating…I'm married, legally speaking. But coincidentally, I stopped wearing my rings right after my mother died. The way Alex failed to support or console me as a husband should, drove home just how much we don't care about each other. I saw no reason to wear "symbols of love" since there was obviously none shared between us. Since there still isn't any love, I still see no reason to wear my rings.

Even if Alex has noticed, he's said nothing. I should find it sad that I don't care what he thinks about my decision. But I don't. I just don't care at all.

Paul puts his forearms on the table and leans forward. His brown eyes scan mine and I can feel him basically attempting to touch my soul with just this look. "How is that possible?"

I can tell the truth on this one. I can tell the whole truth, without really elaborating to the details of my home situation. I shrug. "I've kind of given up on falling in love."

His forehead crinkles in legitimate confusion before he nods in understanding. "Bad experiences with relationships?"

"Exactly."

Paul's smile is gentle. If things were different, I would also find it reassuring. "Well you're young, Steph. You've got plenty of time to fall in love."

His smile can't make me believe that age is directly and infallibly related to the time one has left to be on this earth. I'm living proof that even if you eat right, exercise and don't partake in bad habits, you can still draw a horribly unlucky card. You can still have your body declare a total mutiny on you.

I perk up immediately at the sight of our waitress bringing our food over. I'm grateful for the distraction. If we keep talking about time, I may just fall into a pit of depression. I don't want that. Not tonight; I just want to enjoy being with Paul.

Paul's POV

I place a shoe at each corner of the blanket, to make sure it stays put in the sand. I imagine I'd be quite embarrassed if the damn thing came flying up and threw sand into my hair and eyes. What a way to impress a girl. I sit down on the blanket first and extend a hand up to Stephanie, helping her maintain her balance as she sits next to me.

With a content sigh, Stephanie allows her upper body to relax. She leans into my side and her movements cause the breeze to pick up the vanilla scent of her hair, mingling it with the smell of the ocean. I can't help but to close my eyes, inhale deeply and commit the combination to memory.

"Paul?" She asks so softly that I truly wonder if she wanted me to hear her.

Not bothering to open my eyes, I mutter out, "Hmm?"

"Do you believe in fate – that things in life aren't always coincidences?"

I shrug and decide to adjust my positioning. Instead of leaning back on both of my hands, I wrap one arm around Stephanie's slender waist. "Sometimes," I admit with complete honesty. "Why do you ask?"

A nervous chuckle is all the response that she gives me at first. She sighs again, only this time it's wistful instead of content. "I don't know. Maybe it's just the timing of everything. I mean we literally met on a day where each of us couldn't have been angrier at life even if we tried. There was no love lost, for sure…but now we're clicking so well after hanging out…and…I don't know," she trails off with a shake of her head and another sigh.

I poke her in the side playfully. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not it's just…neither one of us is emotionally available. You know? If the timing and circumstances were different, maybe we could have built something here."

"I see." I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed in her answer. I know I don't want to rush into a relationship with Stephanie. But it's not because I couldn't get myself ready, emotionally speaking. The sole reason why I'd want to move slowly is because I'd be worried that I'll screw things up with her. So the best thing for me to do is to go with the flow that she's indicating she can handle.

We've really only known each other for a day, but to be honest the connection between us makes it feel like I've known her for years. It's so strong that if for some reason she initiated something physical tonight, I wouldn't think any less of her at all. In fact, it would only draw me into her even more.

But her comment has somewhat deterred me. She sounds like she believes we can never have anything simply because of what was going on in our lives when we met last Friday. She seems completely comfortable with me, but I'm not sure what I should do. It's possible that she just might be cold and is drawn to my body heat. And it's not uncommon for close friends to kind of cuddle, as we are now.

I can't help but wonder if that's all she's going to want…and I can't help but not be pleased with that thought, even though I'd take it, rather than not have in in my life at all.

Yes, Stephanie I believe in fate. That's the only explanation I have for how someone like you is currently here with someone like me. It's the only explanation I have for how we literally just bumped our way into each other's worlds, right when the both of us had given up on romance. That was just three days ago and already I'm willing to toss the "no relationships" rule out. Not because I desperately want a relationship…but because I want _you_.

I feel her shifting, so I open my eyes. She's leaning away from me, just enough so that she can look up at me. Her blue eyes are a little probing, but mostly curious. "That wasn't a very telling response."

Despite my disappointment, I smile at her anyway. "Well…I say screw timing and fuck the circumstances. We met, we click and that's that. Maybe fate wanted it to happen this way or maybe it just got us in the right place at the right moment after trying to do so for a long time. Who the hell knows…I say we just see where it leads."

Stephanie shakes her head sadly. I don't have time ask her why she looks like a five year old who was just informed that there's no Easter Bunny, after painting a dozen eggs. "It's not that simple, Paul."

I remove my arm from around her so that I can use my hand to demonstrate my point. I put up my thumb, "There's _you_," I tell her and then put up my index finger, "And there's me. We're here now and we're having a good time. Does it matter why or how that came to be?"

Stephanie's lips part and I can see her struggling to think of an appropriate response to defend the difficulty of our situation. Before she can find one, I speak again. "You only live once, Steph. Make the most of it."

She's silent as her eyes study me. The only sounds are of the waves forming, traveling and crashing against the shore, maybe thirty yards in front of us. Romantically speaking, this is the perfect scene. Thus far, the entire evening has been the perfect date. We were brutally honest with one another, without it breaking out into a fight or ruining the playful, flirty banter that's already developed between us.

"I will," she tells me softly. Stephanie reaches up and runs a hand over the top and sides of my head. Without a doubt, I'm sure my ponytail isn't as slick as it was when we were inside of the restaurant. I'm sure the shorter hairs in the front are probably sticking up in every possible direction. The look in her eyes is completely unclassifiable and I find myself mesmerized and unable to look away or say anything.

The lump in my throat goes nowhere, even though I swallow hard in an attempt to force the damn thing down. Stephanie resumes her prior position, but burrows into my side, even more than she was before. She throws an arm across my lower back and leans her head against my chest. I shake my head briefly, trying to clear up the strange spell that Stephanie McMahon has just cast over me. My eyes narrow as I contemplatively stare out into the darkness of the sky and the water. "Did I just miss a chance to kiss you?" I ask.

Stephanie's laughter makes me chuckle in return, even though I was being completely serious. "Yes," she admits without hesitation. "But don't worry…it won't be your last."

With that she slowly moves away again. But this time I can classify the look: it's affection and I know exactly what to do with that. My hand reaches out and I place just one finger under her chin, lifting her head slightly upwards. We both tilt our heads just a little, in opposite directions. Our eyes slip closed right before our lips meet.

Not wanting to seem overeager, I move my mouth against hers unhurriedly for just a few seconds before I break the kiss.

I pull back and can't help but grin at the fact that Stephanie seems awestruck. Her eyes flutter open and look somewhat dreamy. "Wow," she says.

I successfully hold back my laughter, but can't do anything to keep my grin from spreading.

Yeah. Wow. That's a word for this.


	13. Superman

This is for Serenity, who told me to go update this, lol...and for Angela - get well asap lady!

Enjoy, let me know what you think. And happy New Year's! Everyone be safe, whatever you decide to get into!

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Stephanie's POV

A light shake of my shoulders startles me momentarily.

"Wake up, Steph," a deep, yet gentle voice instructs me softly. My eyelids feel heavy, but eventually I force them open. I lift my head from the blanket and for a moment I squint, not quite understanding what is taking place. Endless blue ocean is in front of me…but it's what's on the horizon that most surprises me.

"Holy shit," I whisper before rolling onto my other side so that I can look at Paul. "Did we fall asleep out here?" I ask although the answer is damn obvious. I run a hand through my hair and peer towards the sun again, making sure it isn't a mirage. At the small shiver my body involuntarily gives, Paul's massive arm tightens around my waist. Even though we've both got things to do today, no doubt, I can't help but find the embrace comforting. I scoot closer to him, rather than making any attempt to get up.

A small laugh passes his lips. "In my defense, you fell asleep first. What was I to do with myself when my form of entertainment was snoozing?"

I return the laugh because that's my instinct. But on the inside, I feel a stab of…something I can't identify. Fatigue is a common symptom of people with my diagnosis. I'd been waiting for more physical signs of the cancer, to kind of validate the fact that I truly have it. Now that another has come, I'm regretting the mental request I'd been making. Another symptom means I'm getting worse. Getting worse means dying sooner. Dying sooner means less time with Paul. Even though we've only hung out once, the thought of losing him fills my heart with sadness so deep I don't have words for it.

Although, it won't really be me that loses him; he'll be the one losing me. We seem to be mostly on the same page so I have to assume that he can also feel the potential for something amazing developing between us.

Quite honestly, I'm terrified to admit how much I care about him already.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep on you." I'm also sorry for what that undoubtedly means in terms of my health, or lack thereof. But I don't verbalize that. I can't. He wouldn't understand and even if he did, he'd bolt on me. I mean, what man in his right mind would begin something intense with a woman whose time was as limited as mine? If I didn't like him so much already, I'd let him go now for his own good. That's what I should do but I won't. "I promise you weren't boring me or anything," I assure him, rubbing his stubbly cheek for a moment.

God, I wish I could wake up like this every day. To him, his brown-green eyes and beautiful smile.

"No worries," he says casually. Paul loosens his hold and I struggle not to pout at the slight loss of warmth. He's moving around a bit and when he stops, he's got his cell phone in his hand. "Hmm," he mutters. "It's six."

"We should probably get going then huh?"

Paul lets out a little groan before releasing me and pushing himself up to his knees. He stretches his arms above his head, while I'm transfixed by his slightly exposed, chiseled, tan stomach. Finally he stands up and extends his hand down to help me up. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car," he says politely.

Once I'm on my feet, with my purse slung over my shoulder, he grabs the blanket and shakes the sand out of it. I grab one end of the blanket and help him fold it up. He more or less holds it with one hand. A childish part of me sulks because the hand I was closest to is now occupied. Since I'm going through life head-on now, I decide not to wait for him to realize I want him to hold my hand. Instead, I go to his unoccupied side and slowly link my fingers through his.

He glances down and flashes me a smile before he begins to walk back in the direction we'd originally come from. "What is the dumbest thing you've ever done?"

Marry Alex, without a doubt. That's my automatic, mental answer. Clearly I can't say that, though. "Like, something dumb that had serious consequences?"

Paul shrugs. "Not necessarily. Could be some funny, but stupid thing you did as a kid."

I poke my lip out while I do a quick scan of such memories. "Oh, I got one!" I exclaim finally. "When I was sixteen, my friends and I entered the talent contest at school. All the rehearsals went off without a hitch and everything was set. During our performance, the crowd was really excited and we all got pretty into it. On the last "hit me baby one more time" I plead temporary insanity…I jumped off stage…expecting to land on my feet as the big, unrehearsed finale. Well…I overshot and ended up crashing into the judges' stand."

The corners of Paul's mouth twitch and I can tell he doesn't want to laugh because it was such an embarrassing moment for me. But even I have to admit that after the humiliation wore off it was pretty damn funny. I watch Paul, with my eyes playfully narrowed, before I finally roll them with a sigh. "Go ahead," I tell him.

He bursts out laughing and I can't help but chuckle as well. "Oh my…hah! Oh my God. When the song says "hit me baby one more time" I don't think they want you to take it so literally," he gets out between fits of laughing.

"Your turn, man!" I say, poking him in the side.

"Hey!" He says defensively, jumping the slightest bit.

Ah, so the big man is ticklish. I'm ridiculously ticklish and it's always been to my disadvantage when it comes to dating. Paul's not as ticklish as I am, obviously…but knowing that he can't just torture me for ten straight minutes, without me retaliating, is cool.

"Okay, okay," he relents. "I was maybe seven or eight at the time. And I loved anything related to comic book superheroes. Superman was my favorite, so my parents got me a pretty extensive set. The outfit, in particular, was so realistic that I basically thought I had Superman's powers. My Dad was doing some roof repair, so he'd left the ladder on the side of the house. I climbed it one afternoon, walked to the edge of the roof…I yelled "Up, up, and away" and pretty much jumped off the roof, convinced I was going to fly because I was dressed like Superman, right down to the cape."

"Oh shit!" I say while trying to hold my laughter in enough to hear the rest of the story. "Did you break anything?"

"I broke my arm, but everyone thought my cast was really cool so it worked out."

We continue walking on the street in amused, comfortable silence. I start fishing around in my purse for my keys as we turn on to the street I'm parked on. "That's me down there," I say, pointing vaguely.

"The Camaro? Pretty sweet ride."

"Thanks," I say with a grin as we stop in front of my car. "What have you got?"

"An Escalade, though it was hard trading in my Mustang."

"Nice," I comment, pressing the button to unlock my car. I open the door just enough to toss my purse inside, before I let it close again. Nervously, I tuck a piece of brown hair behind my ear and lean my back against the car door.

I tug on Paul's hand until he steps in front of me. "I had a great time with you tonight…slash this morning," he says with a chuckle.

I feel myself blushing, but smiling hugely. "Likewise. I'm really glad I didn't reject your coffee this time," I tell him sincerely.

He looks contemplative for a moment before he lets go of my hand, to cup my cheek instead. "So am I."

Without another word, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to my level. His lips meet mine halfway. This kiss is more passionate than our first. I don't see a point in holding back and Paul doesn't feel a need to since I started this one. I run my tongue along his bottom lip and smile slightly when he deepens our kiss and presses me somewhat up against my car.

This is…exhilarating. It feels as if there's waves of electricity radiating from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. It's a rush and yet it also feels so very safe. It's a paradox and yet it makes perfect sense. It's the first time I've felt anything like it. My tongue brushes against his before I break the kiss, pecking his lips one last time.

"You better get out of here while we both still have some semblance of restraint," he says with a smirk.

"Call me later?"

One of Paul's arms wraps around me, pulling me tight against him for a hug. His lips press against my cheek for a few seconds. "Count on it," he promises before opening my car door for me.

I settle in the driver's seat and watch as he closes the door for me. Paul begins to walk away once I start my engine. I plunge my hand into my purse and pull out my cell phone.

"Shit," I whisper. Ten missed calls. Four from Stacy, two from Torrie and Maria and two from Alex. One voicemail from each person with an extra from both Alex and Stacy. I won't call each of the girls back; they were probably on a search mission along with Stacy.

I click on Alex's message first. "Stephanie, where the hell are you? It's ten at night and I haven't heard from you. Call me back when you get this. Bye."

Gee, husband…a little more emotion and I may start to think you actually care about me.

Next I click on Stacy's first message. "Steph, I know you're out with Paul. I just wanted to give you a heads up that Alex is snooping around looking for you. I told him we were working late on a really huge deal. But just call me when you get a chance…I don't want to lie if you've really been kidnapped, decided to run away or something," she says with a laugh.

I shift my car into drive and take off down the street towards the freeway. At the red light, I click on the next message from Alex. "Stephanie, this is fucking ridiculous. It's after one in the morning and you haven't called back. Stacy said you were working late but I know you've got to be done by now. I'm not amused by this latest stunt of yours at all. What the hell has gotten into you, huh? What the hell kind of example are you setting for Jam-"

I delete the message before he can even finish that name. It was never my intention to be a stepmother, anyway. He sprung this on me out of the blue and with ulterior motives so I don't feel the need to be her role model. Up until the last few days I've been playing it very safe and conservative. And the kid hated me then just as she hates me now, so what's the point?

I go to Stacy's second message. "Steph, it's me again. Alex keeps calling so I told him you were sleeping at my place because you were exhausted, it's closer to our office and blah, blah, blah," she explains. "He bought it but he just called a few minutes ago to say that he's going to drop by while he's taking Jamie to school, to see for himself whether or not you're here. It's six right now…so I suggest you either get your ass home or get your ass here as soon as possible."

Damn. Waking up to Paul was an absolutely perfect start to my morning. Now I'm going to have to deal with the asshole and possibly his daughter within the next couple of hours? Well at least Stacy will be there for moral support, I guess. This shouldn't be hard to pull off since I do have a key to her condo as well as clothes there for the times that I really do end up staying over.

It's not a huge deal, it's just annoying. I'm more concerned with how long I can pretend to be working late and sleeping at Stacy's when I'm really out with Paul. God, this is just like high school. A little ironic smile crosses my lips at the thought, as I make a u-turn and head towards Stacy's house instead.

Not seeing Paul isn't an option. He's my Superman, my beacon of hope who's finally come to rescue me from my life before I lose it.


	14. Courage

Sorry for the long wait on this one, guys! I do appreciate your patience on it, though! Now that I'm back in the swing of it, updates will definitely be coming more frequently.

I was super tired while finishing the latter half of this, so forgive any typos. I'll catch them eventually haha.

Prepare to "squee" and let me know what you think, as always :)

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Paul's POV

I've had some kind of contact with Stephanie every day for the last two weeks, straight. Whether we're able to hang out in person, talk on the phone or merely exchange text messages, I'm making it a point to stay in touch.

Normally I don't do this. Normally I wouldn't want to talk this much, this soon. I'd keep the woman of interest somewhat guessing at first. Playing semi-hard to get, if you will. Nothing horrible, just waiting a couple of days to call back, prolonging in-person interaction so that I don't get burned out of whatever chick – unless I'm intending to just bang her and move on.

But Stephanie? She's not just some chick to me. And from the first day we met, I felt it. How could one person just…stop time with a simple glance at me?

Shawn stares at me skeptically as I curl my biceps to lift the heavy dumbbell.

I laugh at him and ask, "What?"

Shawn snorts. "Don't play dumb. You know what. I've never seen you like this before and it's weird," he says with a perplexed frown.

A lift of my shoulders is my answer for him. "What are you talking about?"

"This new girl of yours. You really like her, don't you?"

I want to reply with words. But before I can think of any, my lips just curve up into a huge smile. That's enough of an answer for now, judging by Shawn's shake of the head followed by a return smile.

He wanders over to the bench press and starts loading on weight. As soon as I'm done with my sets I'll spot him as usual. "Just…be careful, man," he tells me after a moment.

I can feel my defenses beginning to go up already. I think I know where he's heading with that statement, but I want to be absolutely sure, before I start ranting about how wrong he is. "Which means…what?"

"You literally just broke up with the gold-digging skank and less than a month later you're gooey eyed over some new chick you know nothing about."

"She's not a rebound," I say simply.

Shawn stops what he's doing to look up at me. His facial expression tells the whole story of what he's thinking…even though mind-reading has never been one of my strongest traits. But I think he's shocked that I sound genuine. Maybe I've even convinced him that I know what the hell I'm doing.

Yes, for once in my romantic life I know without a shadow of a doubt that I'm approaching it the proper way. It's not that I've perfected some technique to obtain the female that I desire. Believe me, I haven't. It's that – well, I'm being honest and open. I'm not being what I think Stephanie desires or expects; I'm just being myself. Thus far, she seems to like that just fine.

I'm knocked out of my thoughts by Shawn slapping a hand against my shoulder. "I'm just saying don't rush things. Feel her out. Get to know her. You know? Make sure she isn't a Heather in disguise and shit."

"I'm not rushing anything and neither is she. And do you wanna know how I know she's not like Heather?"

Shawn shrugs and quickly says, "Sure."

"Because in the couple of weeks we've been hanging out, not once has she asked me for anything other than my time."

One of the weights crashes to the floor with a thud. My revelation was so shocking to Shawn's ears that his grasp wavered just enough for the weight to fall. I hold back my instinctive laughter by simply smirking at him instead.

His stare flattens and he asks, "You're serious? Not one thing?"

"Nope. Nothing," I confirm.

"And she's hot, right?" He asks skeptically. Because surely I can't have met someone who's unselfish _and _attractive.

"Sizzling. Dude, you seem so surprised…but didn't you find all of that in Becca?"

"Uhh, no," he admits with a playful chuckle. "Mostly that's because I fuck up and then have to buy her something. It's gotten to the point where she's got a pre-prepared list and I just cross an item off each time I piss her off."

"That's a very fucked up version of a Christmas list."

"Tell me about it."

I make me way over and Shawn prepared for his first set. While he pounds out the repetitions in his set, I consider what he's said regarding his own relationship. I love my friend dearly, but Becca has every right to be pissed from time to time. While Shawn has never actually cheated on her, he does have an issue with behaving as if he's still single. Simple things like not calling to say when or if he will be late coming home, randomly taking off without letting her know he won't be home and spending entirely too much time in bars, lounges and nightclubs. Then to top it off he was a flirt, even if unintentionally. "Well…lucky for me, I'm not you so I won't be screwing up quite as much."

"Your pockets will thank you."

Stephanie's POV

"Aww come on, Steph," Paul says in an attempt to sway my decision. "It's not as bad as you think."

"No," I tell him decisively. "No, no…a thousand times no! I refuse." I cross my arms over my chest and firmly plant my feet to the ground. As if that will do a damn thing if this mountain of a man decides to try to physically make me get on this damn ride.

Why, just GOD WHY, did I entertain Paul's questions about amusement parks? Southern California certainly has no shortage of them. Less than an hour in any direction of Los Angeles and there's an amusement park, water park or "fun center" perched there. So his questions made sense. They didn't cause alarm for me. We began talking about our favorite and least favorite rides at the most popular places such as Six Flags Magic Mountain, Knott's Berry Farm and Disneyland.

And somehow, some way Paul had the bright idea of bringing me to the Orange County Fair. We spent the majority of the warm summer day riding the rollercoasters, watching shows, playing games and sampling random junk food. Now I feel a little bit swindled because he was clearly getting me to drop my guard for what he wanted us to do once the sun set.

The fucking ferris wheel.

I will literally get on _any _other ride in any amusement park. I'll get on a rollercoaster and not care how high up it is or how many loops, twists and bends it has. I can even handle being on a ride, heading for a tunnel that seems like it's going to knock all of its riders upside their heads.

But a ferris wheel? No. They've always freaked me the hell out. The way they stop every rider at the top and leave them there hanging, swinging about is just creepy. And I always see at least one of the riders purposely making the car rock back and forth more than what is normal. I've always imagined one or both riders just falling the hell out. And the fact that I've seen that happen in movies certainly didn't help.

The line moves, but I don't. Paul's standing behind me, so he puts his hands on my hips and tries to guide me forward.

Begrudgingly, I take a few steps forward because if I don't I'm sure to lose my balance with him trying to make me move up. "I'm not getting on, Paul. I mean it."

"Uh huh," he comments nonchalantly, leaning his forehead against the top of my shoulder.

"Hey." I tug at his ponytail to get his attention. Paul lifts his head and smiles at me. I try not to be too distracted by the fact that he's…beautiful. It sounds girly, but it really isn't. He's features are flawless, with each one coming together to somehow make an even more perfect face and body. That's not all that's captivating about him, though. He's just so at ease with me; as if I've known him my entire life. I've never been one to believe that an individual lives on this earth more than once. I've never believed in reincarnation, past lives and all of that.

But where Paul is concerned? I just may convert to that philosophy because I can't explain the draw he's got on me. But I'm more than drawn to him…more than compelled by gravity to have him around me as much as I can manage. He and I just have this amazing, completely impossible connection. We've had it since day one if I'm being honest with myself. That's how he was able to piss me off so easily. Despite my condition, I don't react to people the way that I did him, no matter how rude they're being at the time. Paul was different simply because our encounter was interrupting our natural, God-given link to each other.

It's then that I realize that maybe all of this isn't so impossible. Maybe the explanation, the logic is simple. Maybe he's my…soul mate. The one person I've spent a lifetime hoping to meet, to be with. The guy I could share my hopes, dreams, insecurities and fears with. I certainly feel comfortable enough with him to tell him anything about me – with the exception of my legal relationship status.

This? It won't work. It can't – if I tell him about that part of my life, he'll be done with me. And even if I don't tell him, we'll inevitably be separated when my time runs out. These realizations hit me like a ton of bricks. All day long I've been able to forget about two huge pieces of my life and just enjoy the freedom and happiness that I feel when I'm with Paul.

My apprehension over getting on this fucking ride has caused me to go inside my own head – possibly the most dangerous place for me to ever be.

The handsome blonde whose arms I'm happily wrapped in, places a light kiss against me ear. Which reminds me that I was very much in the middle of protesting what he's trying to make me do. "What's up?"

I turn around so that I'm facing him, placing my hands on top of his shoulders. "I. Am. Not. Getting. On. This. Ride."

Laughter. He's laughing at me. If he was anybody but _him_, I'd probably be annoyed that he finds my terror and anxiety amusing. "I hear you, babe."

I nod in confirmation. "I know you heard me. But do you believe – hey wait, you've never called me 'babe' before," I point out. I'm fully aware that the heat I can feel on my cheeks is nothing other than a symptom of my blushing.

Paul shrugs, but he's blushing, too.

Somebody help us, please. This is either the most adorable or most pathetic thing ever to happen to two rational, successful, otherwise mature adults. Instinct has me leaning towards the former point of view, though.

"It just," his eyes dart to the side and then finally back to me. "I don't know, slipped out?" He tries.

My hands move up and over, until finally my arms are looped around his neck. It's a position that's become extremely comfortable for them, if I'm to be honest. "No need to explain. I like it."

"Is that right?" He asks. He steps forward, while I step back, to advance us in the line. We must be nearing the front, I would imagine. He might even be getting on during this flurry.

I nod and lean up to peck him on the lips quickly. I like it a lot, actually."

Paul grins at me while we move even further towards the front of the line. So, alas, we can't stay cuddled up this way forever. Not unless we want to start a fucking riot for holding things up. In just a few more moments, we're at the turnstyle. I go through first, with every damn intention of heading right across to the exit. I plan to even wave at Paul and blow him a kiss while he's on the upright, rotating wheel that I fear.

Instead, he grabs my hand and drags me towards the empty seat the operator is directing us to.

"Paul, no!" I tell him in a complete panic as he pulls me along.

No one at this place – employees and patrons alike – seem the least bit concerned by this display of blatant manhandling.

"Paul, I'm serious! I'm not – HEY!" I shriek as he picks me up and places me into the passenger car.

He gets on beside me and his massive frame effectively blocks me from making a quick exit. Fine by me, but I refuse to stay on this fucking death trap. I turn around and try putting a leg over the side of the car so that I can jump off.

"Steph!" He says with a laugh, pulling my leg down. "Okay, you can't do that, it's not safe!"

"Hey, is she gonna be all right?" The teenager that's meant to make sure we're secure, asks suddenly, gesturing towards me.

"NO!" I immediately answer.

"She'll be fine," Paul disagrees, providing a winning smile before yanking me against his side.

The teenager shrugs, closes the door to the car and starts to walk away. I wonder if anyone will sue on my behalf if no one lets me off this ride and I end up falling to my death.

Paul's index finger lifts my chin so that I'll look at him. "Steph, do you trust me?"

That…is a good question. I want to say no simply because he's all but forcing me to get on a ferris wheel of all things. I shared a fear with him and he's…well, he's not using it against me even though he's mostly amused by my reaction. But…he's doing more than that, maybe.

Maybe he's trying to make me confront a fear. Show me that it isn't as scary as I've perceived it to be. I look into his eyes, my stare unwavering even as the ride jerks a bit, with our car ascending so that they can load the next set of passengers. "I trust you."

"Nothing's gonna happen, Steph. Unless there's – I don't know – some unlikely, rare mechanical fluke. In which case we're both in trouble but at least we'll be together, right?"

Together. The car jerks again, to let on more people. And I realize that I'm not afraid anymore. Because I'm with Paul. I'm twenty-nine years old and not one person has ever been able to make me reconsider not getting on a ferris wheel. Not only has he done that, but he's convinced me to stay on.

Sure, I stick to his side like glue the entire time we're on the ride. But that's okay, because at least I did it. I got on and saw it though. We're at the top now and he knows better than to try shaking the ride and potentially rattle my nerves again.

"It's a really great view. Lean forward just a little bit so you can see."

I glance up at him skeptically, my eyebrows drawn together and my teeth grazing over my bottom lip.

"You won't fall, this thing is pretty secure," he tells me, slapping a hand against the car to prove his point. "But here, I've got you." He grasps my hand tightly and jerks his head, gesturing for me to go forward.

Slowly, I scoot forward and risk a glance all around me. I can see the edge of Huntington Beach; it looks beautiful as the sun has just gone down. The sky is lit up in dark orange hues. My lips tug upwards at the beautiful scenery. At my accomplishment of finally riding a ferris wheel. At the man who has very quickly become a vital component of my life.

So what if I'm married? So what if from said marriage I have the stepdaughter from hell? So what if my blood relatives act like strangers with each other now?

So what if I've been diagnosed with terminal cancer?

"See?" He asks, tugging on my hand. "It's not so bad, huh?"

I scoot back in my seat and grab his chin, bringing him down until my lips touch against his softly. His question pertains to the ride. My answer pertains to this ride and my life in general. "No, it's not."

My fear of ferris wheels was deep, intense and very much real. I know it seems silly, but to me it wasn't. I've faced it now because I have him; he's giving me courage.

He's…making me feel like I can do absolutely anything. Maybe even beat cancer if we're lucky.


End file.
